


The Substance of Nightmares

by avioleta



Category: Twilight (non-Canon, Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Rating: NC17, VampSlash, Vampire Big Bang, Vampires, mindreading, twislash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avioleta/pseuds/avioleta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampires are a legend, myth.  They are the stuff of nightmare, born from superstition, fear, and the remnants of old prejudices.  But now Edward must reevaluate everything he thought he knew about truth and reality, about monsters and legends.</p><p>Edward is a graduate student struggling to complete his dissertation.  He’s overworked, stressed, and tired.  And he’d really rather not go back to his adviser to ask for yet another extension.  Unfortunately, however, looming deadlines are soon to become the least of his problems.  He’s hearing the voices again, still, he knows he’s not going mad (he can’t be!).  But then something happens that threatens to throw his entire world off its axis.  Something that will threaten his sanity, his hold on reality, and ultimately his life.</p><p>On his way home one evening, Edward encounters a stranger…a stranger who knows exactly who he is and who wants something Edward possesses quite desperately.  And suddenly Edward is plunged into a world of nightmares.  A world where the legends are true and monsters exist, and he must re-evaluate everything he’s ever believed in order to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part II

**Author's Note:**

> Written for vampirebigbang
> 
> Warnings: explicit m/m sexual content, mild, non-graphic violence, minor character death.  
> Acknowledgements: To the talented enchantedpanda for her lovely artwork. To idylchild for constant encouragement and fast proofreading. To clarionj for her comments and suggestions. And to prassacut for one crucial idea. Thank you.

7.

That afternoon while Edward was slouching his way through a horridly dry article on Milton’s use of sin, he noticed the man (seated at a table three over from his own). 

He rested an elbow gracefully on the tabletop; he was seemingly engrossed in a rather musty and considerably dull looking tome. But Edward suddenly (and with an uncomfortable degree of certainty) knew that the man wasn’t actually reading. 

He took a deep breath, hating the sliver of fear that slid down his spine. 

He was simultaneously annoyed and quite a bit indignant that he was being followed, watched. But still the man’s presence unnerved him distinctly. 

Edward closed his notebook, folded his arms across his chest, and looked directly at the older man. 

The man smiled and seemed to give up all pretense of reading. He closed the book, pushed it away, and crossed his arms (in what Edward was sure was a mimicry of his own position).

Edward found he quite liked the smirk that curled the edges of Carlisle’s lovely mouth (fear laced with the hint of desire), and the realization irritated him immensely.

He looked down at his article again but couldn’t focus on the printed text. Simmering just beneath the surface of his irritation, attraction, fear, Edward noted an undercurrent of something very different. It flickered and flared along the edges of his consciousness and then faded out again (tempered once more by anger).

But the feeling was still there, and Edward (reluctantly, begrudgingly) had to acknowledge what it was. 

Comfort. 

He wanted to shake his head. No. That couldn’t be right. He didn’t want that to be right. Regardless, though, of what he wanted, he couldn’t deny that it was true. 

There, twining between fear and annoyance and discomfort, seeping through the pores of his indignation was a rather disconcerting degree of comfort.

Comfort that the man was clearly concerned with his well-being.

At the thought, his anger sparked once more. He wasn’t a child; he didn’t need to be looked after, watched.

But Edward could still remember the attack with vivid clarity. He remembered the chill of the man’s skin, his arm around his chest, the metallic tang of his breath.

And he realized with a dreadful, sickening clarity (icy fingers clenching at his ribs) that Carlisle wouldn’t be there, wouldn’t be watching him unless the danger was real. And that understanding cemented the fear that had been oozing between the cracks of his mind. 

You’re scared.

Yes.

You should be.

8.

The following afternoon, Edward had barely located the reference text he needed (a tedious examination of the distinction between justice and retribution in Dante) when the man appeared again. He sat down two tables from Edward and leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee; he hadn’t even bothered to select a book from the shelf.

Edward closed his eyes and took a not-entirely-calming breath. Then he stood, gathered his things, and walked to the man’s table. Carlisle regarded him for a long moment before raising a rather elegant eyebrow (lips curving into a wry smile).

Edward sat down opposite him.

Carlisle’s gaze never slipped from his face. The scrutiny was unsettling; Edward felt very much on display. But he was careful not to let his discomfort, his unease show. He stared calmly at the man and leaned back, rocking his chair onto two legs.

Still, he couldn’t help the slow seep of dread that slid down his spine and knotted in his stomach.

He knew Carlisle was dangerous (unthinkably so). As dangerous, perhaps, as the man called Aro. And while his instincts told him that he should get as far away from him as possible, he didn’t think the man would actually hurt him. Not then. Not in public. 

But Edward was also quite sure he was going mad (why else would he voluntarily sit next to this man, why else did a trickle of excitement twine with the fear that flooded his veins?).

Carlisle was beautiful, inhumanly lovely in his perfection. And that…unnaturalness only served to heighten Edward’s discomfort. But it also intrigued him, and he found he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

Carlisle noticed him watching and smiled; his teeth were very straight and very white.

Edward shivered. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, folding his arms across his chest. He was pleased that his voice remained level. 

The man pursed his lips. “Surely you realize.”

He did, but he wanted the man to say it, wanted him to admit that he was following him, watching him.

“You’re not safe.” Carlisle said after a few moments. “Now that Aro has decided he wants you, he will not stop until he has you.”

And though Edward had somehow known that was the case, hearing the words aloud sent a new rush of panic spiraling through his veins. He suddenly was very cold. 

Everything felt shaky and out of focus, nightmarish, surreal. The man’s words burned, almost as if they’d been seared into his flesh. He took a deep breath, but his lungs ached and he felt dizzy. Everything was rapidly spiraling out of his control.

“Why? What does he want with me?”

Carlisle cocked his head, regarded Edward curiously. “Can’t you hear me at all?”

He frowned, confused. “Of course I can hear you.”

“No, that’s not what I—” the man stopped, shook his head. “Never mind,” he finished. “It’s nothing.”

Edward regarded him suspiciously, quite certain there was a great deal he wasn’t being told. And, of course that only heightened his unease, his irritation, his ever-present fear. 

“Come home with me,” the man said suddenly, decisively.

Edward bit back a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“I can protect you. He will come after you again.”

“And you’re one of them.”

Carlisle nodded. “Yes. But I won’t hurt you.”

“And I’m not crazy.”

“No,” the man said seriously. “I don’t think you are.”

He’d had enough. Nothing made sense anymore, but his every rational thought was screaming at him to stand up and walk away. He needed to have a drink, get a full night sleep, and get back to his life. 

After all, he wasn’t crazy (he wasn’t), and nothing he’d experienced in the past forty-eight hours could change what he knew to be true: monsters weren’t real, and vampires simply didn’t exist.

Resolved, Edward stood. “I have to go,” he said, shoving his notebook into his bag.

The man was on his feet in an instant. “Edward,” he said, one hand on his arm. “Wait.”

He shook the hand away, hugged his bag to his chest. “I’m sorry. I have to go,” he said again. “I’m meeting someone.”

“The girl.”

Edward nodded and took a step backward, panic welling up inside of him again. It felt like a stone had dropped into his stomach “How did you know that?” Fear bled into his voice, and his hand trembled slightly; he closed his fist (felt nails bite into his palm).

The man said nothing.

“How did you know?” he asked again slowly. 

“She is your best friend,” the man said, ignoring his question. “But it is not romantic.”

“I…no. It’s not like that,” Edward found himself saying before the implication of the man’s comment set in. 

Carlisle knew where he lived. He knew where he worked. He knew what he did in his spare time. He knew whom he hung out with. 

Edward inhaled sharply; he suddenly realized (with sickening clarity) exactly how much danger he was in. Only now, he wasn’t even sure who to fear more: Carlisle or the man who’d attacked him that night on the street.

You are in danger, but I won’t hurt you. You must believe me.

“How can I possibly believe you?” Edward asked, in a voice that wasn’t his voice (it was too breathless, too high).

But Carlisle only smiled (a maddening curve of pink lips). “You can hear me.”

“Of course I can hear you!” Edward was practically yelling; other students were glaring at him from across the stacks, but he didn’t care. “And I need you to tell me why I should believe you.”

“Because I am the only one who can help you.”

Edward could hear his heart thudding in his ears, a rush of blood so loud it threatened to drown everything else out. He took a deep breath. “You know where I live. You know where I study. You know my schedule. You know who my friends are and what I do every evening.”

The man nodded.

Edward’s entire body was tense, wire-taut, but he knew he could not run.

You can’t get away. There’s nowhere for you to go. 

“How long have you been watching me?”

“A while.”

“Why?” 

“Because I need you as much as you need me.”

9.

Bella was late.

He was halfway through his third pint of Newcastle when she sat down beside him with an over-dramatic sigh.

“Your day couldn’t have been worse than mine,” he informed, cutting off whatever complaint she no doubt had.

She rolled her eyes then shrugged. “Nothing a beer can’t fix, I suppose.” She signaled for the bartender.

He took a long sip of his drink; the glass was cold against his palm. 

“So, what happened to you today?” she asked after several long moments, thumbnail scraping the green and gold label on her beer bottle.

He set his glass down; it left a slick watery ring on the tabletop. Vampires, stalkers, death threats, vampires…

“I asked Pearson for another extension.”

“And?”

“He said he’d think about it.”

“Well that sounds less than promising”

Edward nodded, and unfolded the newspaper he’d taken from the stack at the end of the bar.

She leaned over his shoulder. “Anything today?”

“No.” It seemed odd, now that he knew whom…what was responsible for the attacks, now that he knew how dangerous the man truly was, he had expected more violence. But no. There had been no other disappearances, no new victims. “Nothing.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.” But Edward wasn’t so sure.

They drank in silence for a while. Bella’s knee bounced up and down; her barstool rattled. Edward glared. Bella bounced her leg faster.

“He’s back,” she said suddenly, squeezing another lime into her bottle.

“Who?”

“The man who was watching us.”

Edward felt something twist in his stomach. Of course Carlisle had followed him to the bar. He turned to see him seated in a corner booth, a glass of red wine on the table in front of him.

“Give me a minute,” he told Bella, standing.

She nodded and flashed him a rather wicked smile. “He’s rather attractive.”

He rolled his eyes. “Trust me, whatever it is you’re thinking, it’s not like that.”

“Sure, sure,” she said as he walked away, a teasing lilt to her voice. 

Edward sat down across from the man. He could see Bella watching them from her perch at the bar. “Do I even need to tell you how inappropriate it is that you’ve followed me here?”

Carlisle shrugged, ran a fingertip along the lip of his wine glass. “As loathe you are to accept it, Edward, you are in danger. And I do not wish to see Aro get to you again.”

“I… No—” his voice cracked and he swallowed thickly. Then he scowled. “And yet, you’ve refused to tell me why I’m in such danger. Why does this man wish to hurt me? What does any of this have to do with me?”

The man regarded him steadily for a few long moments. Then asked, “what do you know about your parents?”

“My parents?” Edward was taken aback by the man’s personal question. “What on earth do my parents have to do with any of this?”

“Quite a bit, really,” he said, turning his wine glass around once more. “Tell me, Edward,” he started again, “what do you know about your parents?”

Edward frowned but answered truthfully. “My father left my mother shortly after she became pregnant.”

The man nodded as if he expected as much but said nothing.

“And my mother…” he paused, eyes darkening slightly. “My mother died when I was still very small.”

“She was murdered, Edward,” the man said softly. “Murdered by the very same creature that is trying to kill you.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

Carlisle pursed his lips together before continuing. “And your maternal grandparents, do you know anything about them?”

As far as he knew, his mother’s parents had died while she was still in school. She had no other family. “I... No. I know nothing.” He hated how his voice shook, but he had to understand.

The man nodded again but didn’t respond. Then he reached out, trailed a fingertip along the back of Edward’s hand. 

He shuddered at the shivery contact.

“You wouldn’t, Edward.”

He bit on his lip until he tasted blood. “Carlisle. What happened to my mother? What killed her?” He wanted to sound indifferent, unconcerned but failed miserably.

“A vampire,” he said simply. “But you already knew that.”

“It’s absurd.”

“Is it?”

Edward wanted to scream that of course it was, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words.

“You felt his strength,” Carlisle continued softly, and his cool composure made Edward’s stomach twist. 

“You know what he wanted.”

Edward shook his head but looked at the man steadily. “Your skin?”

The man nodded but otherwise sat perfectly still; Edward found his complete lack of movement rather unnerving.

“Yes.”

Edward took a deep breath. He hated how absolutely helpless he felt, as though his entire world was rapidly splitting apart at the seams. 

When he said nothing, the man spoke again. “You’re not safe, Edward. He will come back. You should come with me.”

“Right…” He might be losing his mind, but he wasn’t mad yet.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You’re…you’re one of them.”

“Yes,” the man said again, his voice low.

Edward wanted to run, wanted to disappear into the floor, wanted to stand up and go back to Bella (find that this had all be one horrifying nightmare). But instead he took a small sip of his drink, twisted the glass between his palms.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Edward closed his eyes, shook his head. “You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m going to—”

The man cut him off. “If I were going to hurt you, I would have done so already.”

“That’s hardly reassuring.”

“No.” The man smiled, eyes never leaving Edward’s. “But it’s true, and you can’t face him alone. You will need my help.” Carlisle paused, a peculiar expression on his face. Then he shook his head, said nothing.

Edward sighed. He felt stretched thin. Pulled between fear and confusion. Indecision and frustration. “Why does Aro want me?”

The man set his glass down, laced his fingers together.

Edward ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Please tell me. I have to know.”

“You have something he wants desperately.”

Edward narrowed his eyes. The cryptic responses were beyond infuriating. “I own nothing of value,” he said, cradling his glass between his palms. “And until two nights ago, I had never even seen that man. There is nothing I have that he could possibly want.”

Carlisle shook his head. “Unfortunately, you are quite wrong about that.” He lifted the wine to his lips, but Edward noticed that he did not drink. “You have a gift, Edward, an incredible talent. Something that Aro wants desperately. And he is accustomed to getting what he wants.”

Edward took a large gulp of his beer; the man watched his mouth, his throat as he swallowed. “And what gift,” he asked, not bothering to mask the sarcasm in his voice, “do I have that is of such interest to your friend?”

Something flashed in Carlisle’s eyes at the comment. “Aro is not my friend. And he is incredibly dangerous. You must understand that.”

Edward nodded, slightly startled by the ferocity in the man’s tone.

“And, as to your ability, Edward, I do not believe now is the best time to discuss it.”

He wanted to scream his frustration. Instead he scrubbed a hand over his face. “And when might be a good time?” Edward asked through gritted teeth.

The man spun his wine glass between pale hands, watching the black red liquid slide up the sides. “Soon. I believe you will understand everything soon enough.”

“Carlisle,” Edward took a deep breath. “I understand that you believe this man is after me, and I know he is dangerous, but there is absolutely nothing remarkable about me.” He drained his pint and then frowned at the empty glass. “I am a grad student. I study Milton and Dante. I spend my free time researching sin, guilt, and punishment. Unless Aro is interested in my ability to interpret literature, I have no talents to offer.”

Carlisle regarded Edward intently, a sad smile playing at his lips. “You really have no idea how special you are?”

Edward shook his head, unsettled by the man’s words. “I don’t understand.”

“Come home with me. Tonight. I will explain everything.”

“I…I can’t.”

10.

In the middle of the night, Edward woke suddenly (the feeling of falling, jerking him out of sleep).

It was only a dream, he repeated to himself. It was only a dream. 

Still, he could hear them, the voices pressing, pushing at the corners of his mind. Louder and louder still, slipping through the cracks (sand through a sieve, a river damned with broken glass). 

No, no, no…

But he knew she was cheating on him (filthy slut), and he was certain he’d never finish the presentation on time (he would have to go back to the boss for more time), and the baby, the baby did need to see the doctor (a temperature of 101 was far too high).

He pressed his hands to his ears, buried his head under his pillow, and wanted to cry. It wasn’t happening; it couldn’t be. But there was no other explanation, and suddenly with sickening clarity, Edward knew.

This was what it felt like to go crazy. 

It was as though the edges had dissolved completely, and he wasn’t sure where he ended and the others began.

He sat up, forced himself to focus on his breathing (in, out, in again).

Then he called Bella.

“Edward, what’s wrong?” the girl asked, voice drowsy with sleep.

“I need you, love. I need you.”

She must have heard the desperate edge to his voice because she didn’t question the late hour (that it was half past three in the morning). She just took a deep breath and told him she’d be there in ten minutes.

But he could hear her mumbling (words like rapid thoughts), as she hung up the phone.

Oh God Edward, what’s happened? I’m coming, I’m coming. Please, just be all right.

But he wasn’t all right.

Bella found him on the bed, knees pulled to his chest, rocking forward and back.

He had no idea how his head could possibly contain so much chatter. Static in clips and fragments. Wild foreign sounds, boiling bubbling in his mind. Distorted ideas and images, swirling, frothing, threatening to strip away everything he thought he knew.

“None of it’s mine,” he whispered. “I can hear it all, but none of it’s mine.”

“I know, love. I know.”

She gave him a shot of whisky (warmed like her grandfather used to drink) and procured two small pills from her bag. 

“Here, take these,” she instructed. “I usually reserve them for airplanes or especially dire circumstances, but I think this constitutes an emergency.” She smiled sadly and brushed the hair back from Edward’s face. “God knows, you need them.” She held the water glass to his lips, and he swallowed. 

Edward thought he heard what she said, but the words were muddled with the other voices, and he simply couldn’t think straight at all.

“Bells, love,” he murmured, leaning into her embrace, pressing his mouth to her hair (the drugs were beginning to take effect). “I think I’m going crazy.”

“No, love, no. You’re not.” Because what would I do without you?

But again the words joined a stream of a thousand other thoughts, running like rain through his mind. 

Things were better in the morning. Everything was muted and dull (as though he were listening from underwater). But the thoughts at the forefront of his mind were his again (mirror sharp, crystal clear).

He could hear Bella in the kitchen (talking to herself, apparently), and he dressed quickly, listening as she mumbled something about cheese for the eggs. 

“Bottom drawer, right side of fridge,” he called.

“What?” she said, as he emerged from the bathroom, tugging a tee-shirt over his head.

“The cheese.”

She looked at him peculiarly, the oddest expression on her face.

“For the eggs,” he explained quickly. “You were looking for cheese.”

Bella nodded then, brow crinkling slightly; Edward still couldn’t decipher the look in her eye.

“I’ve made you an appointment, Ed,” she said suddenly. “This afternoon with the uni doctor.” Last night scared me.

Edward frowned but managed to bite back a rather caustic remark before it slipped off his tongue. “I don’t need to see a doctor, Bella. I’ve told you that.” His voice was clipped, harsher than he intended. 

But I need you to be okay, she whispered, concern clearly etched on her pale face.

“I know, and I appreciate that, but—”

“It’s just to talk, Ed.” She put a hand on his arm. Her fingers were warm, soft. “Do it for me. Please.” Please. 

She bit her lip; it looked as though she was fighting back tears.

“What time?”

“Two-thirty. I’ll tell Dr. Pearson you’re not feeling well.”

Edward closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Okay.”

Bella exhaled audibly. Oh thank God. She looked at him and forced a smile. “Come on,” she said, taking two plates from the cupboard. “Let’s eat.”

11.

“What you are describing, Mr. Masen, sounds like textbook Schizophrenia.”

Edward clenched his hands into fists and took a steadying breath. His fingernails bit into his palms. “I…no… It’s not. I’m not…”

Voices that come and go. Fragmented thoughts. Difficulty distinguishing oneself from others.

“I’m sorry,” Edward looked at the doctor. “What did you say?”

“Schizophrenia. The symptoms you’ve described indicate Schizophrenia.”

“No. Not that.” Edward shook his head, closed his eyes. “Never mind.” 

Nothing was as it should be.

He needed to be in class; Pearson was discussing Faustus that day, a lecture Edward had actually been looking forward to. 

Instead, he was sitting on an examination table trying (unsuccessfully it seemed) to convince the university shrink that he wasn’t losing his mind.

Edward took another deep breath.

“Are you hearing them now?” The woman leaned forward, clasping her hands together in her lap.

“What?”

“That voices, dear.”

“No,” Edward said, crossing an ankle over his knee in feigned nonchalance. “I’m only hearing you.”

“And when did you first notice the…sounds?”

He sighed loudly (the exercise was getting rather tiresome). “Oh, I don’t know. Six, eight months ago. I’ve been rather stressed.”

She nodded and jotted something down on her notepad.

“I’m always rather stressed,” he amended. “I’ve an upcoming dissertation deadline, and I’m not sure I’ll be granted an extension.”

The woman said nothing; she simply regarded him calmly, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m overworked,” Edward said. “And I haven’t been sleeping well. That must be it.” 

He positively refused to admit the previous night’s fiasco. (Thoughts, rapid fire, skipping across his mind like stones). 

She nodded and hmmed (scratched another note on her pad). 

“I’m not going crazy,” he added almost defiantly (as if saying aloud it would make it so).

“Of course not, dear,” the woman said softly. “Schizophrenia is a treatable and manageable condition. With the proper medication…” she trailed off, writing something on her tablet (Chlorpromazine…Thorazine) “you’ll be able to function quite normally.”

“What is Chlorproma...?” he began then stopped. “No. It doesn’t matter. I’m not—”

“Mr. Masen,” she said, cutting him off. “It is clear that you are not well. It is my recommendation that you try the medication. I believe you have a medical condition that can be treated.”

He shook his head. “No. You don’t understand. I don’t need medicine. I don’t have Schizophrenia. I’m just stressed, tired…”

She stopped him again, placing a hand on his knee. “I understand this is a lot to take in. I am just the university psychologist. Why don’t I refer you to a specialist? They can run a few tests, perhaps provide you with additional information, some other options.” She wrote another note on her tablet. Dr. Charles Davis, Laurelwood Clinic, extension 7274.

She tore off a sheet of paper and handed it to him, then smiled softly. “You might very well be right, Edward.”

He knew the use of his given name was meant to be reassuring. 

“Perhaps these…incidents are merely the result of severe stress and fatigue. Clearly, you are overworked. A few good nights of rest would be very advisable.”

He nodded, hoping that would be the end of it.

But she continued, voice kind but firm. “However, in all my years of professional experience, I can tell you that hearing voices and experiencing hallucinations are not symptoms of mere stress or lack of sleep.”

Edward left her office with a prescription for Thorazine, the name of a neurological specialist, and every intention of throwing both into the nearest rubbish bin.

12.

The man was waiting for him when he emerged from the clinic. Edward rolled his eyes and turned to walk in the opposite direction.

Carlisle caught up momentarily, falling into step beside him.

Edward shoved his hands in his pockets and refused to look at his companion.

“Isn’t the English Department that way?” the man asked after a few paces.

He glanced to the side; Carlisle smiled benevolently and gestured behind them. 

Edward looked down again. “Yes.”

The man checked his watch. “You’re not attending your seminar?”

He shook his head slightly. “No.” Of course, it shouldn’t have surprised him that the man knew his specific schedule, but Edward couldn’t suppress that (now all too familiar) trickle of dread that slipped across his skin at the realization. 

You’ve never missed.

Edward glared, irritation building. “No. I haven’t,” he snapped. “So one day won’t matter.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Hearing voices again?”

He stopped and swallowed thickly (cold fingers tightening around his lungs). “What do you mean?”

Carlisle didn’t answer. Instead he asked benignly, “Have you eaten?”

“What do you mean?” Edward repeated, voice low, intense. 

“I know why you were at the clinic.” The man spoke softly, “and you are right.” 

Edward found himself holding his breath.

“You are not crazy. Medication will not help.”

He suddenly felt very ill. “Then what will?”

“Come with me.”

His immediate impulse was to refuse, to get as far away from the man as possible. But Carlisle knew something, and he was beyond desperate for information. 

So he didn’t turn and run. Instead he glanced up at the man; his eyes (a deep brown) were warm and nearly soothing. Edward tensed and looked away again.

“Let’s get something to eat. I’ll tell you what I know.”

By the time they reached the small café three blocks from campus, Edward’s chest didn’t feel so tight. But his hands were shaking and there were echoes flickering along the edges of his mind again. 

They sat at a corner table. The afternoon sun filtered the window (yellow, gold, and orange). It felt warm on Edward’s back.

He pressed his fingers to his temples (the outline of a headache threatened like the murmurs, the voices in his head). 

A waiter appeared and set two glasses of water down with a couple of menus. 

Edward ran a fingertip down the side of his glass; cool condensation slid under his finger, dripped onto the table.

He looked up at the man, who was watching him calmly. He was dressed simply (long-sleeved button-down and pressed khakis), and Edward was once again slightly startled by how beautiful he was.

But it was an unnatural beauty. Inhuman. (Because he was, his mind supplied helpfully). Edward took a sip of water, forced the thought away. Strange, though, how the warm sunlight slanting through the glass only made his too pale skin seem paler. And it was flawless, ageless, white, brilliant…

Realizing he was staring, Edward looked down again, but not before he saw the hint of a smile slip across the man’s face.

It was difficult to unravel the conflicting feelings of fear and intrigue, irritation and interest he experienced every time he was near Carlisle.

The waiter appeared again.

“You should eat,” the man prompted.

He wasn’t hungry.

Pick something.

Edward glared but chose the chicken salad. 

The waiter nodded and walked away.

“But yet,” he said after a moment, “you’re not eating.” His voice was accusatory; he didn’t like being told what to do.

Carlisle actually laughed before quickly smoothing his expression again. “I’m afraid that would be highly inappropriate.”

Edward took a shaky breath, tried to ignore the chill that twisted around his ribs (but it choked his lungs, tugged at his spine).

You know what I am.

He pressed his palms flat to the cool surface of the tabletop. His heart was pounding painfully against his chest, and he felt flushed, dizzy.

The man sat perfectly still, watching him intently. “You know, that…reaction, if anything, only puts you in greater danger.” Makes me want you more.

Edward paled, but his heart (if possible) beat faster.

“You’re lovely, Edward.” Intoxicating.

“I’m losing my mind.”

“No. You’re not.”

“You can hear my heartbeat.” 

“Yes.” Carlisle hadn’t moved, but he took a slow breath and seemed to shudder slightly. “And I can feel it, taste it on my tongue.”

Edward tensed, wet his lips. 

The man closed his eyes. Exquisite.

Edward had never felt more frightened, but yet he sat transfixed. He couldn’t move (could barely breathe). “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing.”

“But my world doesn’t make sense anymore.” He shook his head, felt like his was in a trance. “And I hear things, Carlisle. I hear things, and I can’t ignore it anymore.”

The man didn’t react as Edward expected him to. He didn’t appear horrified or incredulous or shocked. Instead, he merely nodded, eyes fixed on Edward. Of course you do. He rested a cheek on his palm, regarded the boy calmly. “Don’t you understand? That is why he wants you.”

Edward twisted his napkin between his hands, didn’t understand (couldn’t). “What do you mean? I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

No.

“What do you know?” He was leaning forward in his chair, searching the man’s face for something, anything. “What’s wrong with me?”

The man’s lips parted slightly. “You really haven’t figured it out…” he mused, almost to himself.

Edward shook his head, held his breath.

“You hear voices, Edward because you can hear thoughts.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. The idea was beyond absurd.

Think about it.

The man’s lips hadn’t moved. Edward’s heart was racing again, but it was no longer from fear. (Adrenaline rushing through his veins.)

“You can read minds, Edward.”


	2. Part II

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/avioleta/pic/00003ep7/)

 

Prologue.

The man didn’t look up when she took the seat across from him. “You’re late,” he said, but there was no reproof in his tone.

“Yes. Well, I had to park, didn’t I?” The girl set her purse on the table and began removing her gloves. Tan, elbow-length calfskin. She pulled them off from the fingertips, sliding them over slender forearms. She’d covered her dark hair with a Hermes scarf; her eyes were hidden by an enormous pair of dark sunglasses.

Then she reached over, plucking a book off the nearby shelf. He raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Alice asked, opening to a page at random. “It’s a library. We should look like we belong.”

The man nodded. The girl crossed her legs, narrow skirt riding up to reveal several inches of too pale skin. He allowed himself to look before the girl snorted, tugging the skirt down to a respectable length. She should have worn leggings, but in the heat too much clothing was far more conspicuous.

“Are you sure he’s the one?” the man asked after a few minutes, eyes fixed on the young man at the table in the corner, the now familiar shock of bronze hair bent over a stack of reference texts.

Alice rolled her eyes. “Can’t you hear his heartbeat?”

“Yes. Of course.” The man pursed his lips and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “It’s indeed peculiar. But—”

“Carlisle, he’s the one,” the girl assured. “I’ve seen it.”

He studied the boy – well, not a boy; the man knew he was twenty-six. But he didn’t look a day over seventeen. He sat, hunched over the table, shoulders slumped in his faded tee shirt. The peeling letters proclaimed The Velvet Underground. Carlisle smiled; he preferred Lou Reed. The young man’s flawless skin was exceptionally pale – like his own, and the girl’s, but dark circles purpled the underside of his lovely eyes (green like malachite or chips of jade).

Alice laughed. “Cute, isn’t he?”

Carlisle frowned but had to agree; the boy was quite beautiful. He watched as he scratched something in his notebook, bottom lip caught between white teeth.

“You’re sure?” the man asked again.

“Yes.”

“And you think he’ll help us?”

“He has to.”

1.

Edward fumbled in his pocket for the crushed pack of cigarettes. He held one to his lips and flicked the lighter, inhaling deeply. He let the smoke burn the back of his throat before breathing out again.

He’d accomplished nothing that day. His deadline was in less than three weeks, and the proposal was no closer to being complete. He looked down at his hand; smoke coiled between his fingers. He’d have to go back to his advisor and request more time.

Edward took another long drag, enjoying the acrid taste on his tongue and watching as gray ash fluttered to the ground. It was a filthy habit; he’d be the first to admit it. Yet nothing fueled a nicotine addiction like a half-written dissertation. He sighed and stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette against the heel of his shoe. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he headed toward the student parking lot. The meandering dirt path was worn smooth by use and baked brick-hard by sun. It was hot for April, but Edward didn’t mind the heat. He never had.

2.

Edward frowned, smoothing his palm over the crease in the paper. He stared at the bolded headline in the bottom left corner: ‘Body Found, Mutilated.’ There was a grainy photograph and a brief caption that read Aubrey Everton, 17.

“So they found her.”

He jumped at the voice.

“Figured you’d be here,” the girl said, sliding onto the barstool beside him. “When you didn’t answer your phone.” She slipped her bag off her shoulder before signaling for a drink.

Edward shrugged and scratched his fingernail along the red and gold label of his bottle.

“She’s pretty,” Bella said after a few moments, looking over his shoulder at the article. The bartender set a glass in front of her.

The girl in the photo looked very young. She was laughing at something off camera. Edward sighed and pushed the paper away. “She’s the third this month.” His voice was flat.

“I know.” Bella cradled her pint in her hands but did not drink.

“You shouldn’t be out alone.”

She put her glass down again; it left a watery ring on the paper, blurring the ink. “I can take care of myself.”

He chewed on his thumbnail, a habit left over from childhood. Bella despised it.

“Stop that,” she finally said with a scowl, slapping his hand away. “It’s positively vile.”

“I just worry about you.”

Her expression softened; “I know.”

They drank in silence.

Edward was nearly done with his beer when he noticed the man. He was seated in the corner, elegant fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass, but he wasn’t drinking. Something twinged at the back of his brain (a murmur, an echo he couldn’t place), but Edward didn’t look away.

Blond hair, white pale skin. He was lovely. And Edward felt certain he’d seen the man somewhere before.

“Bells, do you recognize that man?”

She turned, looking over her shoulder. “No. Should I?”

“I’m not sure.” He turned his bottle around between his palms. “I think he’s watching us.”

The girl shrugged, turning to look at the man once more. “He’s very attractive.”

“Yes. There is that.”

3.

The buzzing had started again. At first it was just a murmur, a faint whisper pushing at the corners of his mind. But the sound intensified until it was enough to drive him mad.

“The voices are back.” Edward looked up from his battered copy of Paradise Lost.

Bella sucked the end of her pen into her mouth, eyes narrowing in concern. “Maybe you’re stressed.”

Edward sighed. “I’m always stressed.”

She closed her laptop, hugging her arms across her thin chest. “Have you considered talking to a psychologist?”

Edward shook his head. “No. No doctors.”

Bella reached out to brush the back of his hand with a fingertip.

“They’ll think I’m crazy,” he said, hating the desperate sound of his voice.

The girl’s smile was sad, even though he knew she meant it to be reassuring. “Not crazy, love. Just…” She bit her lip. “There might be something they can do. Some medicine you can take.”

He shook his head again.

Bella took his hand in hers, looked like she wanted to say something else.

“No.” His tone was resolute. “Voices mean schizophrenia. I’m not schizophrenic.”

“I know, Ed. I know.” But she didn’t look convinced.

“Besides,” he offered with feigned nonchalance. “It’s not like the voices are telling me to do anything.” He pursed his lips, considering. “And even if they were, I don’t think I’d listen.”

Bella laughed, but it was clearly forced.

4.

Edward was two blocks from his building when he noticed the man.

He was dressed strangely, even for the university district. His dark over-cloak brushed the ground as he stepped forward, hood falling back enough to reveal unnaturally pale skin, nearly translucent in the flickering light of the street lamp.

Edward shivered despite the heat.

“Lovely night,” the stranger said, moving out from the shadows.

“A bit warm.” Edward lit a cigarette, cupping his hands against the sultry breeze.

“You don’t mind the heat,” the man said with a curious smile (a tight curve of thin lips).

The measured intonation of his voice was unfamiliar. A European accent Edward couldn’t place. He moved to walk past; it was late.

“Edward Masen?”

Edward stopped, startled; he was quite certain he didn’t know the man.

The stranger drifted forward, movement barely perceptible. But suddenly he was standing two steps from Edward, hand extended. Edward took it without thinking.

The sensation was oddly surreal, like being plunged under water. (Memories in bits and flashes blurred across his vision.) Edward jerked back, tried to pull away. The man’s palm was very cold.

Perhaps he truly was losing his mind.

“Fascinating,” the stranger said, as if to himself. “Truly fascinating.” And then: “I wonder…”

Within an instant, he’d grabbed Edward’s wrist, twisting his arm so that his back was flush to his chest. He was surprisingly strong. Edward struggled against him, but it was useless.

The man laughed, a soft sinister sound, as his fingers slid down Edward’s neck. Manicured nails pressed into his skin. Edward held his breath; his heart was beating too fast. “What do you want?” he managed to gasp. “How do you know my name?”

“I’ve known you for a very long time, Edward.” The man’s breath fanned across his cheek, cool and cyanide sweet, but it was laced with a deeper scent, coppery and stale.

Long fingers trailed down his throat, traced the neck of his tee shirt, tugging the fabric back. A thumbnail scraped across his collarbone. Edward couldn’t catch his breath; his pulse fluttered madly, and he felt the man inhale, nose sliding along his jaw.

“Lovely,” the man mouthed against Edward’s skin. Then he felt the pain (sharp and hot and quick) as nails bit into his skin.

Edward cried out, tried to wrench his arm away, but he was held fast.

“Let him go,” a voice growled, and Edward jerked his head, trying to break free, trying to see whom the voice belonged to.

“Ah, Carlisle,” the man purred. He didn’t release his hold on Edward, but the pressure at his neck lessened some. “I didn’t realize you had such an interest in the boy.”

“Nor I you,” the voice responded.

The man chuckled; Edward felt his hair brush against his cheek. “But it is my business to be concerned with…matters such as these.” Then Edward felt a tongue sliding cool and slow along his throat.

He shuddered; the man’s cold fingers dug into his arm, bruising the skin.

“He’s rather delightful, I must say.” A fingertip slid across his clavicle. “Wouldn’t you like a small taste?”

Edward hissed, and the grip on his arm tightened still.

“Let him go,” the other man repeated, his voice low, but Edward could hear the fierceness there.

His captor laughed again. “Now, now. No need to get upset.” He pushed him away, and Edward stumbled; he would have fallen had he not slammed into the other man’s chest. The impact knocked his breath away.

Edward put his hands up, catching himself, and stepped back, but not before he felt hard lines of muscle underneath his palms (cold, solid, and not entirely human).

He gasped, and the man moved, pulling Edward behind his body, as if shielding him from the other man.

“I imagine,” his assailant said slowly, voice cool and slippery, “we’ll see each other again soon.” He bent slightly at the waist (a mockery of a formal bow), and then he was gone.

Edward blinked, stunned and rather in shock. He put his hand to his throat, feeling the sticky warm wetness there.

He felt the man recoil slightly, and Edward froze, startled. For the first time, he looked up at his rescuer, and something in his stomach clenched.

“Go inside,” he said, his voice was low, controlled. “You’re not safe out here.”

“I…I know you.”

The man frowned, shook his head slightly.

“From the bar. You’ve been watching me.”

He inclined his head, but his expression remained unreadable. “Go inside.”

Edward’s head swam; he closed his eyes, tried to calm the pounding of his heart, but it only thudded louder in his ears, made it impossible to think, to breathe. “What just happened? Who was that?” he blurted out. Then he forced himself to take a deep breath, tried to clear his head, forced himself to look the other man in the eyes. “Who are you?”

A sigh. “You are injured.”

Edward brought his hand back up to his neck. It was tender, but the bleeding seemed to have slowed. “I’ll be fine. What just happened?” he repeated.

The man watched him appraisingly for a few moments, then seemed to make a decision. “Come,” he beckoned, walking toward Edward’s building.

Edward followed, as the man led the way upstairs to his apartment.

He tried to ignore the fear that slipped down his spine (pooled in his gut) when he realized that the man knew where he lived.

Even as he turned the key to his apartment, Edward was quite certain he was making a horrible mistake (allowing the stranger inside, inviting him in). But he wasn’t thinking too clearly, and he wanted answers; this seemed the most expedient way to get them.

“Bathroom?” the man inquired once they were inside, and Edward motioned down the narrow hallway. He stood in the doorway hesitantly and watched as the stranger rummaged through his medicine cabinet, methodically setting items on the counter.

“Come here,” he instructed, pouring alcohol onto a cotton swab.

Edward complied, wincing as the man dabbed at his neck.

“It’s not terribly deep, but you are lucky he chose not to bite you.”

Edward nodded, examining the gash in the mirror. The skin had already begun to knit back together.

“You heal quickly,” the man noted, affixing a bandage. His movements were precise, deliberate, but his touch was gentle.

“I always have.”

He nodded, as if expecting as much.

“Your hands are cold.”

“I… I know.”

5.

Edward’s apartment was small but warm and filled with mismatched furniture and bookshelves overstuffed with journals, reference texts, and dog-eared paperbacks.

He sat on the floor in front of the sofa, knees drawn up to his chest, picking absently at the fraying cuff of his jeans. The man perched, perfectly still, on the edge of a straight-backed chair, watching him warily.

“You’re a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“And you know that…man?”

“Yes.”

Edward looked down, scrubbed a hand across his face. “Who is he?”

The man pursed his lips but then answered. “His name is Aro, but I believe, perhaps…” he spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, “the better question is what is he.”

Edward’s too pale skin went even paler. “What do you mean?”

“I think you already know.”

Edward stood. His hands were shaking; he shoved them in his pockets and paced the length of the room. “The disappearances. The murders…”

The man nodded, lacing pale fingers together.

“That was him?”

“His associates, more likely. But yes.”

“What are they?” Edward’s voice was unsteady.

Carlisle looked at him for a long moment. “You’re scared.”

“Yes.”

The man took a deep breath. “I’m afraid you should be.”

“What was he?” Edward repeated, hating the desperate sound to his voice, but he couldn’t help it.

“He was interested in your blood, Edward.” His voice was calm but tinged with a seriousness that made Edward’s heart race.

“What was he?” Edward said yet again, panic rising; he practically hissed the words.

“I’m afraid,” the stranger said slowly, repeating his earlier assertion, “you already know.”

Edward closed his eyes, pressed fingertips to his temples, but the man was right. Somehow, inexplicably, he did know. He could hear the word pushing against his mind, insinuating itself between his thoughts, his understanding.

Vampire…

He shook his head, tried to take a step backward only to find that his back was already pressed against the wall.

“Edward…”

“It…it can’t be.” His heart was racing again. “It’s impossible.”

Vampire.

He pushed the word away, forced it out of his mind, but it slipped through the cracks, lingered around the edges.

His throat felt tight. He closed his eyes once more; he needed to get outside to breathe, to pretend it wasn’t happening. He’d wake up tomorrow, and the entire evening would simply be a horrible dream.

He and Bella would laugh about it on their way to campus.

Vampire.

“They’re not real,” he whispered. The words felt thick and heavy on his tongue.

“We are.”

Impossible.

His head was spinning. Vampires were just legend, myth, borne from superstition, fear, and the remnants of old prejudices.

And yet… No. It couldn’t be.

Edward eyed the door; it was only a few feet away. If he could only—

But something (a voice, barely substantial, whispering at the corner of his mind) told him he didn’t have a chance.

You’ll never make it…

The man furrowed his brow curiously.

You can’t leave. You shouldn’t…

God no. Not now. Not now.

He took a deep breath, shook his head again, and resisted the urge to press his hands to his ears.

“I…I need you to go,” he managed after a few moments, willing himself to be okay, willing the voices to stop. He wasn’t going crazy. He wasn’t.

The other man frowned but made no move to get up.

“Please,” Edward tried, hating the waver in his voice, but it was all he could do to make his mouth form the word.

Carlisle seemed to come to a decision because he stood fluidly, abruptly. “I don’t think he will be brash enough to return here tonight.” He paused, fishing something out of his pocket. “It would be rather foolish.”

Edward stood stock still, back against the wall. He barely allowed himself to breathe.

“Here,” the man said, holding out a hand.

Edward didn’t move.

“My mobile,” he explained, stepping forward to press the slip of paper into Edward’s palm.

He looked down. There, scratched on the slip of loose-leaf in narrow neat ink, was a telephone number.

“Call me,” the man said. “If you need anything. Doesn’t matter the time.”

The concern in his voice unnerved Edward. He could only nod dumbly.

And he was gone.

Edward could still feel the chill of cold fingertips against his skin.

He sunk to the floor. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and he forced himself to take several steadying breaths. All the adrenaline and fear he’d felt over the last hour seemed to bleed out of his system; he was tired, but he couldn’t stop shaking. He knew he’d never be able to sleep.

Perhaps he truly was going mad. What else could possibly explain what just happened?

Vampire.

He closed his eyes, but his mind still raced, as he desperately sought to piece together the (disturbing, unsettling, horrifying) events of the evening.

The man on the street had known his name, had come for him.

Edward shuddered at the memory (skin translucent and cold as ice). He brought his fingers up to the bandage on his neck. It was still sore to the touch.

He was interested in your blood, Edward…

No. He pressed his fists to his eyes, attempting to blot out the memory, the sensations. It couldn’t be true; it wasn’t possible. Edward leaned his head back to the wall.

He was overworked, tired, stressed. A good night sleep would set everything right. Things would be clearer in the morning.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling of the man’s tongue (shivery slick) against his throat, the press of his nails (sharp as knives) along his skin, and the strength of his body (muscles like iron) holding him fast.

Vampire…

Edward forced himself to his feet and made his way to the kitchen. He poured a glass of water, and took a long sip, trying to focus on the cold liquid as it slipped over his tongue.

His stomach was in knots; it was difficult to breathe. His every rational, logical thought fought to reject what his gut was telling him to believe. His hands shook and he swallowed thickly; water sloshed over his fingers.

Edward slept with the lights on that night; he was certain he could still hear the voices.

6.

Bella was waiting outside when he came downstairs the next morning.

“God, you look positively dreadful, Ed,” she commented, blowing a thin stream of smoke into the air.

Edward glared at her in response but said nothing.

She held out her hand.

Edward shook his head, and the girl bent over to stub the half-smoked cigarette out on the pavement. “What happened to your neck?”

He brushed a finger across the bandage. It didn’t hurt anymore. “It’s nothing.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t inquire further. She was used to Edward’s evasions.

They walked toward campus in silence. Although it was still early, the sun was bright and hot; it glinted down yellow and gold through the crisscross of branches that covered the sidewalk.

Bella balanced on the edge of the curb, arms extended as if maneuvering along a tight rope. “You know,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder, “at some point you’re going to have to tell me what happened.”


	3. Part III

13.

Two and a half hours bent over his laptop only confirmed what Edward already knew: there were no known cases of telepathy. 

Psychologists spoke of a human’s ability to “read” emotions, to intuit what others thought or felt. But mind reading – hearing another’s words, phrases, thoughts, and comments as though they were spoken aloud – was scientifically, physically, and humanly impossible. 

His head still spun with the implication that the voices that had plagued him for months weren’t hallucinations at all

It didn’t make sense; it couldn’t. But still, the explanation (impossible as it seemed) was surely better than the alternative.

He stretched and took a sip of now lukewarm beer before wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.

He knew the man was outside. 

It wasn’t that he could hear him. Edward couldn’t distinguish Carlisle’s thoughts from the half dozen others lurking in the background of his mind. Still, he was certain the man was there, and that…pleased him. 

Edward wasn’t sure when he’d stopped regarding the man’s perpetual presence with annoyance and irritation. He chose not to think about it.

The voices were still there, but he was able to push them back into deeper, darker corners. Simply Carlisle’s suggestion that there was an explanation, that he wasn’t going mad, that the noise had some substance, some meaning (as unthinkable as it was) made the murmurs more tolerable.

He was able to make a distinction (slightly blurred along the edges) between his thoughts and those of others. His ideas were more clearly defined, and it was easier to untangle the undercurrents of sound now that he could accept that perhaps it was more than hallucination.

Edward didn’t sleep well that night.

He had expected to see the man when he left for class the next morning, but he wasn’t there. Edward ignored the twinge of disappointment he felt. It was absurd, of course.

But he had to admit that there was something about Carlisle’s presence that was…tolerable. And although he was still very much afraid of what the man was, what the man was capable of, it was easier to see past the seeping fear in the bright sunlight.

And while Carlisle provided more questions than answers, he’d offered the first explanation too.

Now Edward wanted to hear more.

Bella wasn’t waiting for him either. Their schedules differed that day. But for once he wasn’t even sure he wanted to see her; he wasn’t sure he would know what to say.

After all, she would want to know how his appointment went, and how could he even begin to explain something he didn’t understand – something that was clearly impossible?

He slid into his usual seat (second row, right hand side) just as the professor entered the room. The buzz of voices died down, but when Edward listened carefully he could still hear soft thought words underlining the quiet.

Annoyance, interest, boredom…

He shook his head and took a deep breath.

Confusion, irritation, distraction…

Edward tried to focus on what the professor was saying, but it was difficult to distinguish the sound of the man’s voice from the others slipping across his focus. The man’s spoken words were interlaced with thoughts and ideas (before and after), as he planned ahead, revisited, reflected on what he was about to/had already said.

Edward closed his eyes, scrubbed a hand across his face, and tried to concentrate. But it was maddening, confusing, impossible. And even if he wasn’t crazy, he knew he might still go mad.

Soon the voices murmuring at the back of his brain had increased to a dull roar. And even though he knew what they were – if he could accept that they were the unspoken thoughts of thirty classmates – he could do nothing to drown them out.

They pounded at the edges of his mind like a headache, distorted his field of vision, and made it hard to breathe.

The lecture dragged on and on.

Edward found that only when he was alone, did the noise completely stop. It made perfect sense, of course, and served to strengthen his understanding of what was happening to him (but did nothing to assuage the problem).

Even when he was at home, he was close enough to the other apartments in his building to hear things he didn’t want to hear. But after class he found a secluded spot on the edge of campus and sat down on the grass (knees pulled to his chest). He closed his eyes, concentrated on nothing, and let the silence bleed over him.

He heard the crunch of gravel when the man came up behind him but did not turn around.

Edward was used to the soft push of his thoughts (muted and controlled). He opened his eyes, felt the slip of a shadow slide over his shoulder.

“You can’t run from it forever, you know.” Carlisle’s voice (spoken aloud) was smooth and low.

Edward said nothing, dug his fingers into the ground and felt cool dirt under his nails.

“You must learn how to deal with it, Edward, learn to use it to your advantage.”

He refused to look at the man. “I still feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Yes,” Carlisle said simply. “But you’re not.”

Edward bit back the anger that threatened to overwhelm. Of course the man didn’t understand. He couldn’t – he hadn’t experienced the onslaught of irrationality and mental chaos Edward experienced whenever he couldn’t help but listen. 

Just the memory of that afternoon in class made him nauseous. “It’s impossible, you know. Mind reading is physically impossible.”

“Perhaps. But sometimes the only explanation is the impossible.”

“What do I need to do?” the boy asked softly, looking back over his shoulder for the first time.

Carlisle stood behind him, arms folded across his chest. He wore long-sleeves despite the heat. Edward wondered absently if he was always cold.

The man smiled, lips curving slightly. “Learn to listen.”

14.

As they walked back towards Edward’s apartment, their fingertips brushed. Edward gasped, jerked his hand away.

Carlisle tensed. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No…” Edward moved his hand back, tentatively sliding a finger over the man’s knuckle. The skin was smooth and cold as ice.

He slipped his hand down, running his own calloused fingertips over the length of Carlisle’s palm. The chill that seeped from the man’s skin to his own was disquieting and addicting all at once. 

Carlisle’s thoughts shifted under the surface, confusion and curiosity flitting across his mind. What are you doing?

“I…I don’t know,” Edward finally said. “Are you cold?” His fingers slipped between Carlisle’s; his thumb moved in small circles.

“No.”

When they reached his building, Carlisle pulled his hand away, but his thoughts were quiet; Edward wondered if he was intentionally shielding his mind.

“Come up,” he whispered before his brain has the chance to talk his mouth out of it.

The man stared at him intensely (eyes that could pin him to the wall, rip him open, slice his heart clean out).

But he said nothing.

Edward wasn’t sure why he did it. It was quite certainly incredibly stupid, but he didn’t care, didn’t regret the invitation. 

He couldn’t explain it, but suddenly he felt a clear unraveling of all his previous apprehensions (the untying of knots, one by one). 

He didn’t want to think about the change, the disintegration of reservation. He simply wanted the man to come up to his apartment.

When Carlisle finally spoke, his voice was soft (a brush of sound against Edward’s skin). “That would be unwise.”

Edward shook his head, twisted his fingers in the strap of his messenger bag.

Carlisle watched him steadily. Even in the warm afternoon light, his eyes were dark (nearly black). 

Edward frowned.

The man inhaled rather sharply and did not blink. “I need to feed.”

At his words, an involuntary shudder shook Edward’s thin frame.

The man closed his eyes.

“What do you eat?” he asked hesitantly, voice wavering slightly. He knew the answer (of course he knew). But the man had never spoken the words out loud, and he wanted…needed that confirmation.

Carlisle looked at him again, too dark eyes glittering strangely. “You already know.”

“Tell me.”

“Blood.”

Edward’s breath caught in his throat, sickly and warm, but he nodded and swallowed. “Do you want me?” 

He could feel his pulse (a rush of blood) in his ears. He took a step forward.

The man tensed, went very still. 

Edward wasn’t what he was offering (body or blood), but it didn’t matter.

“Do not tempt me.” Carlisle’s tone was harsh, nearly a hiss.

Edward jutted his chin out rather defiantly and refused to back down. “Come upstairs.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” Thoughts skirted across the man’s mind, as Edward held his breath and listened.

Delicious, depraved, dangerous, delirious, desperate, and deadly.

He took another step forward.

Carlisle stood very still but did not recoil. “I could hurt you.” Taste you, want you, touch you, kill you.

“Have you ever before?” the question came out as a breathless gasp; Edward was horrified and desperately intrigued at once.

The man waited before responding (a moment that stretched and stretched). “Yes. But not for a very long time.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

Carlisle closed his eyes again. Edward knew his control was slipping.

“You do not know that. I will not risk it.” He reached a hand out tentatively. The smooth coolness of his thumb brushed against a slightly stubbled cheek. 

Edward felt the splash of heat spread down from his face to color his throat, slip under his collar. He leaned into the touch. His heart was pounding painfully against his ribs, and his head swum (fear and desire twining together, coiling around his spine and shortening his breath).

“I…I can’t,” the man finally said. “Go inside. Stay there tonight,” and he was gone.

Edward could still feel the touch of cold fingers against his skin.

15.

When Edward closed his eyes that night, he imagined his hands mapping an endless expanse of white gold skin (fantasies smooth but bright like moonstone). And, when he dreamed, he awoke to the taste of that cool, pale skin branded hot across his tongue.

16.

He did not see the man before or after school the following day. And Edward couldn’t but wonder, as he found a secluded corner in the library and pulled out his laptop, if he had pushed too hard. 

He worked steadily for over an hour, grateful for the silence. The stacks were practically deserted (after all, it was a Friday). He only saw one other person working. A small dark-haired girl with rather lovely yellow eyes. But her thoughts were quiet, as she sat in an overstuffed armchair, legs curled beneath her body, nose in a book.

Edward must have lost track of time because when he checked his watch it was nearly eight. He closed his computer and stretched, feeling a satisfying pop in his lower back, as he twisted in the chair.

The girl was watching him calmly as he stood. He smiled softly and headed for the stairs.

It was almost dark; he’d worked longer than he intended, but he refused to acknowledge the tendril of fear that unfurled in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t seen Aro since that first night, and Carlisle wasn’t following him; there must not be reason to worry. He took a deep breath and headed for home.

But something wasn’t right.

Edward’s stomach twisted unpleasantly, as his fingers curled around his keys (cool metal biting into his palm). 

He stopped when he reached the landing. The door to his apartment was open. He took a tentative step forward, listening, but all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. Someone (or something, his mind supplied helpfully) had forced its way inside.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, searching for the scrap of paper Carlisle had given him. He dialed the number with shaky fingers.

The man answered after one ring.

“Someone—”

“I know,” Carlisle cut him off. “He’s gone now, but he will be back. Go inside and pack some things. Meet me out front in ten minutes.”

Edward did as he was told.

The man was waiting when Edward came downstairs, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” he asked, sliding into the front seat of Carlisle’s black Mercedes.

“My home. You’ll be safe there.”

Edward nodded. “What was he looking for?”

“You.”

They didn’t speak as Carlisle drove. His thoughts shifted like gravel, flickered like flames across the surface of his mind.

The house was lovely, tucked nearly a mile off the main road up a tree-lined meandering drive. 

A rather extensive array of expensive automobiles filled the driveway. Edward would have been quite impressed, had he not been discomfited by what the collection had to mean.

“You don’t live alone.”

“No.” Carlisle turned the car off and regarded him steadily. “My family.”

“And they’re…” Edward could hear the fear that seeped into his voice; his throat was suddenly very dry. 

“Like me. Yes.” He put a hand on Edward’s knee, and even through the denim of his jeans, he could feel the chill. “We won’t hurt you.”

“I…I know.”

“Come on. We have a lot to do.”

A young woman was waiting on the front porch. “Thank goodness,” she said, kissing Carlisle on the cheek before turning to look at Edward. “You’re safe.”

Edward watched them curiously, trying to decipher their relationship, but the voices were quiet. The man leaned in to whisper something in the woman’s ear, hand resting naturally on the small of her back. They looked strikingly familiar (pale beauty, porcelain skin), but the interaction spoke of an intimacy that went beyond familial affection.

“Edward, this is Esme,” he said simply in introduction.

The woman took his hand in hers. Her skin was as cold as Carlisle’s.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Her smile was genuine. “Please. Come inside.”

He felt the man’s eyes on him, as he followed her through the door.

The rest of the Cullens were in the den, a large open room with floor length windows lining one wall. Watery moonlight spilled through the glass. 

“Edward,” Carlisle said, fingers brushing against the back of his hand. “This is Alice and Jasper, Rose and Emmett.”

It was odd. He knew they would not hurt him, but still, Edward couldn’t help the overwhelming sense of unease that came with standing in a room with six vampires. He took a deep breath, tried to calm the thud of his heart.

“Well, I can see why you’re interested,” the blonde said, standing. Her cold stare was appraising, but she turned without another word and headed for the stairs. The dark haired boy followed.

“Don’t mind her,” the smallest girl said with a toss of her head. “I never do.”

He nodded rather dumbly before realizing something. “You…” he looked at her for a moment. “You were watching me earlier. At the library.”

She shrugged unapologetically. “Somebody had to.”

“Sit down, dear,” Esme said, taking the seat opposite Alice and Jasper.

“I…okay.” Edward perched on the very edge of the chaise Rose and Emmett had recently vacated. 

Carlisle didn’t sit, but moved to stand behind him, slender hand resting on the back of the upholstered loveseat. Edward turned his head. If he leaned back, his shoulder would touch that hand. He didn’t.

He noticed Alice watching him, her expression a blend between curiosity and amusement. He looked away.

“Alice was right,” Carlisle said after a few moments. “He was in the boy’s apartment.”

Edward bristled slightly at his choice of word, but said nothing.

“He won’t be able to return home,” the man continued, speaking as though Edward weren’t sitting right there.

The others nodded in agreement; Edward said nothing.

“What about the girl?” Esme asked.

“Alice?” Carlisle’s tone was calm, but Edward could sense the worry there.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment before looking up again. “She’s fine. He has not decided to go after her yet.”

Edward glanced up at Carlisle, fear clenching at his chest. “Bella?”

Carlisle pressed his lips together but did not respond.

“It would be better if she left town, though.”

The man nodded. “I know. We will talk to her tomorrow.” He brushed his fingers against Edward’s shoulder. The soft, cool touch made him shiver, even as something warm curled in his stomach.

“Your friend,” Carlisle spoke again, addressing Edward this time; he did not move his hand. “She has family she can stay with?”

“Yes. Her mother in Florida.”

“Good. You will encourage her to take a holiday.”

Edward nodded. He knew Bella would listen if he asked her to go, but she would worry. She always worried.

“I still don’t understand,” he said after a few minutes. “I know this man is after me. That’s fairly obvious now, but I still don’t understand why.”

Alice narrowed her eyes at Carlisle. “You haven’t told him? Really?”

“No, I…”

Edward glanced up at Carlisle; the man looked rather contrite.

“We’ve talked about it,” he finished, but Edward wasn’t sure they had.

“Why does he want me?” he tried.

“Aro is a bit of a collector,” Carlisle said carefully. “And you are…unique.”

Edward frowned. “So he wants my ability to do what? Make inane comparison between Dante and Milton?” 

Of course, even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t the case. He didn’t need the voice in his head to whisper what Aro wanted.

The girl snorted; he glared.

“Aro knew Dante,” Carlisle supplied. “And, while useful, I’m not sure he has need of that particular talent.”

“Then what?”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Your ability to read minds, of course.”

Edward blanched. “I—”

“They know you hear voices,” Carlisle added softly, sitting down beside him. “And they know you’re not crazy. It’s a gift. One Aro covets greatly.”

“It’s worthless,” Edward said, chewing on a thumbnail. “I can’t control it. I barely understand what I hearing half the time.”

The man brought a hand to the back of Edward’s neck to trace cool circles on warm skin. Edward turned to him, feeling the flush spread across his cheeks.

Carlisle smiled. “You will learn.” Then: “I’m sure you’re tired. Let me show you to your room.”

He made to object, but the man cupped his cheek with his palm, tilted his face up to his. Edward sighed.

“We can talk in the morning.”

Everyone was looking at him (concern layered with interest), and it was awkward, uncomfortable, unsettling. 

“Okay.”

Carlisle took his hand.

Edward hesitated for a moment (looked down at the man’s fingers curled around his own) and followed his up the narrow staircase. He felt his cheeks burn a rosy pink.

“This is your room,” Carlisle said, stopping outside a dark doorway. He flicked on the light.

Edward stepped inside. The room was small but comfortably furnished. 

Cool fingers brushed against his back (a whisper of contact), and they were gone. 

Beautiful.

Edward turned, startled by the touch (and what he wasn’t sure he heard). The man’s expression was calm, unreadable.

Carlisle didn’t speak but reached out again, tentatively, to draw a finger along Edward’s cheekbone, sweep his thumb across Edward’s lip.

He gasped, tried to lean into the man’s hand, but he’d already pulled away. It had all happened so quickly that he barely had time to register the twist in his stomach before Carlisle stepped back, smoothing his palms down the front of his trousers before disappearing down the hall.

Edward lifted a hand to his face, recalling how the man’s fingertips had felt on his skin. Again, he experienced the same sharp twinge (deep and low) that tugged at his spine and tightened in his gut.

By then he recognized the temptation, the allure. The same desires colored with uncertainty…with a fear that kept him up at night. He sighed, eyes narrowing.

(He wanted to kiss him, but he was certain he wouldn’t get away with it.)

17.

Edward awoke to slices of pale gray sunlight slanting through white shutters. 

He stretched and rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of nightmare still clouding his mind. But the sheets (crisp and pristinely white) were unfamiliar; he sat up as the events of the previous night came flooding back. 

His apartment. Carlisle. The beautiful home in the middle of nowhere.

He could hear voices from downstairs. The Cullens were awake.

His jeans were in a crumpled pile on the floor. He pulled them on and took a clean tee shirt from his knapsack, hastily packed before fleeing his apartment. 

He found the others seated around the dining room table, speaking in hushed whispers.

“Oh! You’re awake,” the girl called Alice exclaimed when she saw him standing in the doorway. “It’s so wonderful that you sleep,” she added, resting a pale cheek on her palm. 

“I, um…pardon?”

“That you sleep, of course,” she repeated as if Edward were a bit slow.

The man Edward believed to be the girl’s husband elbowed her rather sharply in the ribs. She glared at him, and Carlisle laughed. (Edward found he quite liked the sound.)

“What Alice means,” he said, glancing at the girl and then Edward, “is we hope you slept well.”

“Oh. A bit,” but he wasn’t really paying attention. He was looking at the man’s eyes. The day before, Edward would have sworn they were dark (nearly black). A startling contrast to his pale hair, pale skin. Now they were honey and warm.

They were lovely.

Carlisle smiled, lips curving just so. Edward blushed and looked away, but it was too late. The man had seen him staring. His cheeks warmed further.

Alice grinned. Rosalie rolled her eyes. The other two men looked rather uncomfortable. Edward didn’t know what to say, so he stared down at his feet awkwardly.

Thankfully the girl spoke again: “Do you eat?”

“Do I what?” He looked up, too confused by her question to remember his embarrassment.

“He eats,” Carlisle said, clearly holding back a laugh. He motioned to the empty chair beside him. 

Edward sat. The man’s fingers brushed against the small of his back.

“That’s wonderful!” she beamed. “Esme remembers how to cook. I never learned. But she’ll make eggs.”

“Oh, er, just coffee please.” 

Alice looked disappointed. Carlisle smiled and left the room, returning a moment later with a pale blue mug. Edward nodded his thanks when the man set it down in front of him. 

He sipped his coffee (it was strong and bitter and exactly the way he liked it), while the others talked in rushed, clipped whispers.

Edward watched as Alice’s husband gestured rather emphatically with his hands. Carlisle nodded and calmly took notes, pencil moving smoothly over yellow legal paper. Every so often, Emmett would nod in agreement, but he said very little.

“No,” Alice said after a few minutes. “I’ve already told you. That’s not what I’ve seen. It has to be in Italy.”

Carlisle shook his head. “No. That’s where he’s the most protected.” Carlisle tapped the end of the pencil against the table, frowning. “Even without his guard, and they are always around him, he will be with Marcus and Caius.”

Jasper jotted something down on his own notepad before speaking. “Carlisle is right. Even without the guard, I’m not certain we can take them on there. Not without risk.” He looked up, eyes dark. “They are old and powerful and quite gifted. It’s far too dangerous.”

Alice shook her head. “No, no. I saw it. It has to be this way.”

Carlisle laced his fingers his fingers together and regarded the girl for a few moments. Edward watched the man’s hands, pale and graceful.

“Tell me again what you saw.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “We are in Italy – in Volterra, in the place where they meet.”

The man nodded as if her words made perfect sense.

“Aro, Caius, and Marcus are there, but we catch them off guard. They hadn’t realized we were coming…not then.” She looked up, pale pink lips caught between too white teeth. “It seems odd, you know?”

Jasper nodded. “They can’t be caught unaware. They always know what goes on in their city.”

Alice cocked her head. “True. But not this time.”

Jasper started to say something else, but Carlisle held up a hand, stopping him. “What else, Alice,” he said softly. “I need to know everything.”

She closed her eyes again.

“Where are the others?”

“I don’t know.”

“But they aren’t in the room?”

“No.”

“Impossible,” Jasper interrupted. “They do not leave themselves that vulnerable.”

Alice tapped a painted fingernail on the tabletop. “Perhaps. Unless they do not believe themselves vulnerable.”

“Can you see the others now?” Carlisle asked.

She pursed her lips. “I can try.”

“Do so.”

Everyone sat quietly, watching the girl.

Edward looked at Carlisle, hoping for some hint as to what was going on, but the man only smiled and shifted infinitesimally closer to him. Edward tried to ignore the flutter and twist of his stomach, but he couldn’t help the disquieting tendrils of warmth that twined round his limbs whenever the man was near him. 

The man placed his hand on the small of Edward’s back. Even through the cotton of his tee shirt, he could feel the coolness of his palm as it pressed against his spine, then slid up his back to rest on his shoulder. Carlisle had touched him before, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the feel of his skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Alice said after a few minutes, startling Edward out of his reverie. Carlisle’s hand fell away.

“It’s as though they’re blocking me,” she frowned. “I see nothing.”

“Keep trying,’ the man said, voice low but firm.

“I will.”

He nodded curtly. “Is there anything else?”

Jasper looked down at his notes. “We will see if we can locate Aro. Determine his plans.”

Carlisle nodded again. “Good. We will meet again later.”

The rest of the Cullens drifted away, and, in a moment, they were alone. Though they weren’t touching, Edward could still feel the coolness of the man’s body beside him. 

“I’ll leave you,” Carlisle began. 

But Edward reached out and grabbed his hand, felt him tense, suck in a breath.

“No.” He ran his thumb along the man’s knuckles, let his fingers slip between Carlisle’s. The man did not pull away. His palm was smooth and cold against his.

“I still don’t understand,” Edward began; he felt Carlisle’s eyes on him but did not look up.

“What don’t you understand?” he asked carefully.

“This man…”

“Vampire,” Carlisle corrected.

“This…vampire wants me for my ability,” he tried to keep his voice from shaking, but it was difficult. “But I don’t understand how he even knows I exist.”

“Telepathy is a rather rare gift,” the man said.

Edward choked back a burst of nervous laughter. 

“So rare, that Aro will do whatever necessary to find you.” The man’s fingers tightened against his. 

Edward looked down at where their hands were laced together, pale skin against pale skin.

Carlisle continued, “telepathy is almost always inherited, passed down from parent to child.”

A tendril of understanding unfurled in Edward’s mind. “My mother?”

“Yes. That is why she was killed.”

“But if Aro wants this…ability so desperately, why kill her?”

Carlisle sighed, thumb tracing small circles against the back of Edward’s hand. “I don’t know. But I imagine she would not…cooperate with his plans.”

Edward nodded. “And she received the ability from her parents?”

“Your grandmother, most likely. Telepathy usually travels along a female line.” He smiled then, a small twist of lips. “But you, of course, are special.”

The man brought his other hand up to Edward’s face, brushed his thumb against Edward’s lip.

“Is this okay?”

He shivered but felt his cheeks warm. “Yes.”

One cold fingertip ran along his jaw, slid down to his neck, and traced a line along his throat before pulling away.

Edward released the breath he was holding. 

18.

Alice found him in the garden. The sun was high and bright. She sat down beside him, pulling her knees to her chest. A silver ballet flat dangled from one foot. 

Edward looked up, squinting, then turned to the girl. Her white skin shone, pale and radiant, but she wasn’t sweating. 

“The sun doesn’t bother you?” he asked.

“What? Oh, no.” She smiled. “That’s just a myth. But, it can be…a problem.” She began rolling up her long sleeve. 

Edward raised an eyebrow, but then she extended her forearm, exposing white skin to the sun’s glare. It practically radiated light, refracting the brightness like drops of dew.

“I see,” Edward said.

Alice laughed. “Carlisle hasn’t shown you?”

“No. He always keeps his clothes on.”

The girl snorted, stifling another laugh. “Well, good for him.”

After a few minutes she spoke again: “Are you doing all right?”

“I…I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

She nodded but said nothing.

“Do you hear things too?”

She turned to look at him, eyes sad. “No. Not like you.”

He sighed and looked down. Of course not.

“But I see things.”

He jerked his head up again. “You see things?”

She nodded, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. 

“What kind of things?”

She shrugged, pressing her lips together before responding. “Possibilities, predictions, potential futures.”

“You can see the future?” Edward tried to tell himself that he shouldn’t be surprised; still, the concept was truly remarkable.

And Alice shrugged again, as if dismissing the import of such an ability. “Potential futures,” she stressed the word. “These things change, you know. I can never be sure.”

He nodded. “Have you always been able to see things? Even before? I mean…” he paused.

“Even when I was human?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes darkened slightly. “I’ve always been able to see things. But I can control it better now.”

“Did you think you were crazy?”

She smiled, but it was filled with a sadness that made his chest ache. “Everyone thought I was crazy.” She took a deep breath; it was clear she was remembering things she preferred not to remember. “They locked me up. Put me in an institution.”

Edward frowned. He hadn’t expected that. 

She bit her lip (she wasn’t looking at him anymore). “I probably was, you know.”

“What?”

“Crazy.”

They sat together silently after that. Edward did not know what to say, and Alice was clearly lost in her own thoughts. Finally she looked at him again. “It will get better. It always does.”

He fumbled in his pocket for the crushed pack of Parliaments, shaking one cigarette out onto his palm. He held it out to the girl. She declined, a curious expression twisting her lips. He shrugged, holding it to his mouth, lighting it. The smoke was bitter and acrid as it rolled across his tongue. He blew a thin stream into the air.

“What happened?” he asked, watching as gray ash fluttered to the ground.

“I was changed.” She cocked her head to the side. “It’s quite painful.”

“Who did it?”

Alice laughed, a quick burst of sound. “I honestly don’t know.” She frowned slightly. “But he loved me.” She looked down at the ground, dropping her hands between her knees.

“Does Carlisle plan to change me?” he asked suddenly, not entirely sure where the question came from.

She looked up, clearly startled, honey eyes fixed on his. “What a funny thing to ask.” She did not continue, and it was clear she would say nothing else on the topic.

“What did you do?” Edward took another drag off his cigarette, allowing the smoke to burn his throat, his lungs. “After you were changed.”

“I left the institution.” They couldn’t keep me after that. 

He nodded. That made sense, of course.

“I’m certain I was still quite mad.” Her voice was tinged with something Edward couldn’t understand. “But I knew…” she trailed off then, and Edward leaned forward, waiting.

“But she knew she would find me.”

He jumped at the voice and looked over his shoulder. Jasper stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest.

“Yes. I knew. I saw it.” Alice smiled a bit wistfully.

“And you believed it?” Edward asked.

She nodded. “I had to.”

That night, Edward sat in his bed in the Cullens’ guest room. He considered reading but knew it would be pointless. His thoughts kept wandering back to the conversations he’d had that day. With Carlisle. With Alice. He sighed and closed his eyes.

He was startled by a knock at the door. It opened a moment later. 

Carlisle moved to the edge fluidly of the bed and sat down, one ankle crossed over his knee. “The others are hunting. Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Though Edward wasn’t sure he believed it.

The man nodded. 

“I will accompany you to campus tomorrow. You have one class. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you can talk to Bella.” The man took Edward’s hand in his, cold fingers slipping over his knuckles.

“She’s in danger, isn’t she?”

Carlisle regarded him steadily for a few moments. “It is better to be cautious.”

Edward swallowed thickly; the man’s thumb continued to stroke along the back of his hand (small circles, smooth, deliberate and slow).

“She will be all right. I will not let anything happen.”

“I believe you.”

He nodded then and stood quickly. Edward’s hand felt cold without his icy touch. But Carlisle didn’t turn to go. Instead he stood at the foot of the bed, glanced to the door, and then looked down at his shoes. 

Edward closed his eyes and tried to listen (scattered thoughts in bits and fragments). 

Too soft skin flushed pink with warmth and blood.

Fingers clutching at his back, twisting in white sheets.

A mouth pressed to his throat, as one hand slips between the slice of his thighs.

When the man looked at him again, Edward felt something rise up in his throat. His heart stuttered obscenely, and his stomach fluttered and twisted in a way he was certain no grown man’s should. 

Then he found himself on his feet, moving forward (two small steps in the space of a heartbeat), and he kissed him (one impulsive foolish motion). It was over in an instant, the gentle rushed press pull of lips. 

Edward jerked back with a gasp and clasped a hand to his mouth. Oh God…

He imagined the chills that would slide down his spine, if the man would only touch his skin. He wanted to feel Carlisle’s tongue in his mouth (his own back bowed, feet pressed into the mattress). He wanted to kiss the man again, wanted to cling to him, take him to bed, beg him to touch him kiss him bite him fuck him. But all he could do was stand stock still and press his fingers to his lips.

“I can't. We shouldn't,” the man said, after a moment that stretched and stretched. 

Edward was sure his world was spinning wildly out of control.

“I never should have touched you.”

Edward's face was hot; he wondered if it would burn the man’s skin. “No. I, please…” he reached a hand out, as his tongue tripped over the words.

But Carlisle was shaking his head, recoiling from his touch. “It is wrong to want you.”

“That’s not true. It can’t be,” Edward tried, hating the desperate sound of his voice.

But the man only shook his head again and turned away. “No Edward. I can't. It is impossible for me to be with you.”

He stood there for a long time after Carlisle was gone. The kiss pounded in his mind (white hot and painfully sharp).


	4. Part IV

19.

Edward looked down, scuffed his toe against the sidewalk, fingers twisting in the strap of his messenger bag. “Bells,” he said after a few moments. “Why don’t you go down to Jacksonville for a few days. Visit your mom.”

She frowned, clearly confused.

“You can use that ticket I gave you for your birthday.”

Bella opened her mouth as if to say something (offer one of a half a dozen protests). But she must have seen something in his eyes, some hint of the desperation he was trying to hide. She closed her mouth (lips pressed into a thin line) and nodded. “Okay.”

The girl narrowed her eyes then, brushed her palm against his cheek. “But you’re going to tell me what this is all about someday.”

He smiled tightly and covered her hand with his. “I will.”

She nodded again, expression troubled. “Yeah. Okay,” she repeated. “I’ll finish that paper for Martin. Book a flight for tomorrow evening or Wednesday morning.”

Edward’s relief was clear. “Good. That’s good.”

She looked at him for a long moment, lip caught between her teeth, eyes appraising, as if trying to determine what he was hiding simply by looking. Finally she sighed. “I’ve got to get to class.”

He nodded.

“I won’t see you tonight.”

It was a statement, not a question, but he responded anyway. “No. I…” He trailed off; there was nothing he could say.

“It’s okay, Ed,” she paused, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I understand that you can’t tell me, yet.”

He couldn’t help but smile as she emphasized the last word.

“I have to go.” She reached out, slid her hand down his arm.

“I know. I’ll call you.”

She nodded and turned away. He watched as she walked back toward the English building.

Carlisle was at his side in an instant; he said nothing, but his presence was soothing nonetheless. They walked together away from campus. When Carlisle’s fingertips brushed his, Edward looked up at the other man, but he still said nothing.

Carlisle’s phone rang. Edward watched as he held it to his ear, spoke quickly to whomever was on the other end. Suddenly the man stilled, his expression registering concern then…fear.

Something was wrong; he could feel it in his bones.

Carlisle did not look at Edward. But he picked him up and, without a word, ran.

The sensation was not unlike falling or flying or drowning. And before he hardly knew what to think, to feel, it was over. 

Rosalie was seated on the sofa, rocking slightly back and forth. She looked calm, beautiful, but her posture was immediately unnerving -- head slightly bowed, blonde hair obscuring part of her lovely face. And her hands were clenched together so fiercely, her knuckles were nearly white.

Carlisle stepped forward cautiously, and she looked up, face pale and rather drawn. Her lips (painted red) posed stark contrast to the unnatural pallor of her flawless skin. 

“Rosalie?” Carlisle asked, voice soft. “What happened?”

She looked at him and furrowed her brow before looking down at her lap. 

“Rosalie,” he repeated, and her head shot up again; her gold eyes were dark.

“There was nothing I could do,” she murmured, as if to herself. She shook her head, teeth catching her bottom lip, pressing hard enough to leave a mark.

“Rose,” Carlisle prompted once more. “Tell me what happened.”

She turned around slowly (glanced at the back window), revealing the curve of her neck, her shoulder.

Edward gasped.

A huge gash sliced the surface of her skin, cutting from the blade of her shoulder to the center of her back, where it disappeared under the fabric of her shirt. And the surrounding skin was marred by vicious punctures, pink and angry and raw. 

Bite marks, Edward realized. He swallowed thickly. 

Carlisle was at her side instantly. “You’re hurt.”

Rosalie looked confused. “No…no.” She brought a hand up to her shoulder, slipped her fingers tentatively over the wound. “Oh, well,” she mused, a hint of understanding in her voice. “It’s nothing. Nothing compared to…” she stopped abruptly (one pale hand flew to her mouth). “Oh God, Carlisle,” she gasped, really looking at him for the first time. “She’s gone.”

“What happened?” His voice was still soft but laced with a firmness that chilled Edward to the bone. 

Rosalie had wrapped her arms around her chest; she was shaking again. “There were so many of them…too many,” she murmured. Her eyes were still fixed on Carlisle’s, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her expression was strangely vacant, blank.

Edward tasted blood and realized he’d been chewing on an already ragged thumbnail. He dropped his hand to his lap; he was trembling. Something was very wrong.

He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath and tried to focus on the jumble of thoughts pounding at his peripheral vision. But there was nothing but flashes and fragments, sharp and jagged; they made his eyes sting.

Disbelief, confusion, fear, anger, panic, shock, anguish.

He rubbed at his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear his head, but the sounds clung (like cobwebs) to the corners of his mind.

“Where’s Esme?” Carlisle asked softly.

The girl’s eyes went rather wide. This time when she bit her lip, her teeth pierced the skin. “Outside,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

Carlisle stilled and went very pale. “No.”

“I tried. I promise I tried.” Rosalie tugged her knees up to her chest. She was still rocking.

“I tried,” she said again. “There were just too many of them.”

“What happened?” Carlisle said again, but Edward was sure he already knew the answer.

Rosalie stopped moving. “I killed one, you know. Made a separate fire. I couldn’t stand…couldn’t—” She made a rather strangled noise and squeezed her arms more tightly to her chest.

“No,” Carlisle said again. He was already moving toward the back door. 

Edward followed. 

He found the man on the porch, staring into the back yard. There were two smoldering mounds of ash marring the otherwise pristine lawn. He stood very still, and Edward remained in the doorway, held his breath. 

He could hear the flashes of shock, desperation, pain that flamed across his mind, but Edward could not make sense of his jumbled thoughts. He wanted to move, knew he shouldn’t be there, that the man deserved some privacy, but he was rooted to the spot.

And then Carlisle turned to face him (eyes cold, lips thin). “Come. We must speak with the others.” With that, he stepped past Edward and disappeared inside. 

Edward entered the living room just as Emmett, Jasper and Alice burst through the front door. He could see the looks of concern, confusion, fear flash across their faces as they took in Rosalie, despondent on the couch, Carlisle standing a few feet in front of her, a disconcertingly stoic expression on his lovely face.

“Oh my God! Rose,” Alice gasped, darting toward her sister, but then she stopped (on small hand flying to her mouth). “Carlisle, I…no. No.” She shook her head, but her entire body seemed to be trembling. 

“What happened?” Jasper asked, hand on Alice’s shoulder.

Emmett immediately sat down beside Rose, pulled her into his arms. 

“They were here,” Carlisle said simply.

“No,” Alice repeated. “I saw, Carlisle. I saw. Aro returned to Italy. I know he did.” She sounded rather frantic. 

Carlisle said nothing. He didn’t even blink. 

“It’s true, you know,” Rosalie said suddenly, her voice strangely calm. “Aro wasn’t here. I thought he was coming. I was ready to die.” She paused, cocked her head to the side. “But he never came.”

“Who was here, Rose?” Jasper asked.

She looked up at him suddenly, as if noticing him for the first time. “The young boy…Alec,” she said, voice small (as if far away). “And his twin. So much pain.” She looked at Carlisle then. “It hurt.”

“I know, love. I know,” Emmett said gently, hand stroking her hair.

“And the bodyguards. Felix,” she said, emphasizing each syllable (shards of glass on her tongue). “I don’t know the other’s name. But strong. They were strong.” She stopped, lip caught between white teeth. “Stronger than you,” she finally finished, looking at Emmett. He held her close.

Edward heard him whisper, “It’s okay now, I’m here.” 

But she pulled away again. “There was no Aro, though. No Aro. I am absolutely sure.”

Carlisle nodded and moved a step to stand beside Alice. “You would have seen it.”

She looked up at him, eyes bright. 

He smoothed a hand over her cheek. “He wasn’t here. There was nothing you could do.”

She nodded but didn’t look convinced.

“I killed one,” Rose spoke again, her voice strangely soft, nearly peaceful. 

Emmett glanced up, looked at her with concern. 

She huffed. “I did. It wasn’t easy, but I got him. The one that—” killed Esme. She stopped short, face painfully pale again. Then she took a deep breath. “I did. Not Felix…the other one.”

20.

The Cullens kept silent vigil that night. Edward sat beside Carlisle on the sofa, legs tucked beneath him. He wanted to touch the other man, pull him into his arms, offer some comfort, but he wasn’t sure of his welcome.

He must have fallen asleep. 

Edward awoke with a start, embarrassed to find himself curled against Carlisle’s side. The man’s hand rested on his arm; cool fingertips traced the curve of his bicep. He moved to sit up, but Carlisle tightened his grasp, held him against him.

“Stay,” he whispered, leaning down so that Edward felt his breath cool against his hair. It was incredibly intimate, and he allowed himself to relax against Carlisle’s side once more.

When he woke up again, it was nearly dawn. Purple gray light filtered through the windows to cast pale shadows on the floor. He shifted against the man’s chest and felt cold fingers brush along his shoulder. 

Edward sat up and groaned (stiff from sleeping against the man’s unyielding body). 

“I’m sorry,” Carlisle said, voice barely a whisper. “I am not the most comfortable pillow.”

“No. You’re fine,” Edward lied, but his neck twinged as he twisted to sit up; he couldn’t help but groan again. 

The man chuckled softly, and Edward felt strong hands kneading sore muscles, sliding along his shoulder to press tendon and tissue. Carlisle’s cold fingers slipped under the neck of his tee shirt, tracing the ridges of his vertebrae.

Edward breathed out, air leaving his lungs in a sudden rush. 

The man tensed, a dozen conflicting thoughts flashing across his mind. “I…”

“No. Please,” Edward whispered, not entirely sure what he was asking for. 

Carlisle’s fingers resumed their teasing trail along his spine. You have…lovely skin.

Edward turned his head; the man’s expression was calm, but his eyes were sad. Edward took a deep breath. “Are you okay?”

Carlisle’s fingers stilled. “Can’t you hear me?”

He shook his head. “No. Not everything.”

The man frowned. 

“I don’t think it works that way,” Edward said. “Sometimes I hear things clearly. Sometimes I only hear bits and pieces. Sometimes I can’t hear anything at all.” He looked away again. “I heard what you thought, though, about…my skin.”

Carlisle went very still but didn’t respond.

“But I wasn’t listening.”

The man’s fingers swept along the curve where his shoulder met his neck, then fell away.

He turned toward the man again; Carlisle’s eyes were clear and gold. “And now when I try to listen, I hear nothing.”

Carlisle frowned again. “Perhaps you are tired.”

Edward wanted to disagree, but he yawned and had to nod. 

“Come. I’ll go with you upstairs.”

The man brushed his fingers against Alice’s dark hair as he walked past. She looked up and smiled sadly but said nothing. No one did.

Once upstairs, Carlisle followed him into the bedroom without a thought but then stood awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to do.

“I, er, need to use the restroom,” Edward said finally when the man didn’t speak. “Clean up a bit.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’ll just leave you then.” But he didn’t make any move to go. I’d rather stay with you.

“No. Don’t,” Edward said before he could stop himself. “I’ll only be a minute.”

The man nodded. 

Edward left the door to the adjoining bathroom slightly ajar as he brushed his teeth, washed his face. When he returned, Carlisle was seated on the bed, his back stiff, his hands folded in his lap. 

Edward found he quite liked the sight of the man there, but Carlisle’s eyes were blank (thoughts laced with hurt), and he immediately felt horrible for thinking about him in that way. 

“Come here,” he said suddenly, not looking at Edward. “You need rest.” I’d like to hold you again.

“All right.”

He glanced up at that. “You heard that?”

Edward shrugged, feeling a bit guilty. “I wasn’t trying to.” He toed off his trainers. “Frankly, I’m not sure why I can hear some things and not others.” 

“It is important that you listen. That you try to hear whatever you can.”

That startled Edward. “I do not wish to intrude.” Surely the man understood that. “Thoughts are private. I’ve no right—”

Carlisle held up a hand, cutting him off. “And you will learn what not to listen to. But first, you must learn to hear everything.” He took a deep breath. Edward couldn’t quite read his expression. “Believe me, Edward,” he said after a long moment, speaking slowly. “This is important, especially now…”

Esme.

Another wave of grief washed over the man. It clung to the air, heavy and cloying. Edward thought he might choke on it. 

“I am sorry about Esme,” he said softly. 

Carlisle nodded.

“You were very close.” It wasn’t a question, but he couldn’t mask his curiosity about the nature of their relationship.

“Not in the manner I’m certain you’re thinking.” We were not lovers.

It was inappropriate to ask; Edward knew that. But he had to know. “Not ever?”

The man scrubbed a hand over his face. He suddenly looked very tired. “Yes. Once. But it was a very long time ago.”

“How long ago?” The answer was suddenly very important. 

“Almost ninety years.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, looking at Edward. “We were not meant to be together. She had married in her human life. She wouldn’t again.” 

“You loved her.”

“Very much. As a sister and a dear, dear friend. She was the first family I had in my new life.” He ran a hand through his hair; Edward thought he saw it shake. “I loved her more than I have ever loved anyone. But it was not a love that lovers share.”

“I am sorry,” Edward said again, and the man’s eyes flashed with something that sent a shiver of dread along his spine.

Sadness, grief, anguish.

Carlisle pressed his knuckles to his mouth; it looked as though he were forcing himself to breathe.

Suddenly something terrible occurred to Edward. “It was my fault,” his voice was barely audible, but even as he said it, he knew it was completely and horrifyingly true. “They were after me, and they got…oh God…” a pale hand flew to his mouth, and he shook his head. “It should have been me.”

“Stop right now,” Carlisle said fiercely. He was on his feet in an instant, hands gripping Edward’s arms so tightly they would leave bruises (marks like crescents, the press of his fingertips).

“But it was—”

The man stopped him with a kiss, brutal and hard. 

Edward knew Carlisle didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel. Those thoughts rang loud and clear. But he also knew he’d been thinking about kissing him for days (feeling the boy’s lips on his, tasting him on his tongue…)

Edward breathed out (a soft huff of air) and kissed him back, hands catching Carlisle’s face, fingers slipping over too smooth skin. 

They stumbled back a few steps (Edward clutching at his shoulders), and then the man’s legs hit the bed. Carlisle’s teeth scraped along Edward’s lip, and he hissed. But the man’s tongue soothed the sting (icy, slick, smooth and numb).

And Edward knew Carlisle could feel the stutter of his heartbeat, and he knew it was driving him mad. 

His mouth slid along Edward’s jaw, and he shook at the sensations (the exquisite taste, the press of his chest and push of his hips). Edward shivered again and could not remember wanting someone so badly. 

God, oh God… I shouldn’t. We shouldn’t…

“Yes,” he said into the man’s mouth, “we should. Now, kiss me.”

But Carlisle pulled away, his eyes dark and wild. Edward’s fingers clung at his shoulders, refused to let go. “I’ll hurt you.”

“No. You won’t.” Edward slid his hands down, splayed them against the man’s back, and repeated: “Kiss me.”

When Carlisle did, they both groaned. 

Edward rocked against him (he was getting hard with each press of his hips); the man swore softly as their cocks brushed together for the first time and opened his mouth against Edward’s again (he’d never been kissed so fiercely before). 

Carlisle’s fingers dug into his shoulder blades, pulled them even closer together, and one hand cupped the back of his head.

I want you. We mustn’t. God, I want…

“Yes,” he gasped into a kiss. “I’ve wanted this…I’ve wanted you for days and days.” And Edward’s fingers twisted into the cotton of his shirt. “Don’t stop,” he breathed, turning his face, pressing his lips to the smooth curve of Carlisle’s throat. His tongue licked at the man’s skin, and he felt him shudder against him. 

I can’t stop… 

“Don’t. Don’t stop.” 

Carlisle came to a decision then, pulling Edward on top of him as they fell onto the bed (legs twining together, fingers tugging at shirts and pants).

And when his tongue slipped inside Edward’s mouth, Edward couldn’t help but moan (surprised he hadn’t fallen to pieces yet).

Edward’s hips were already moving, pressing down against cold hardness. His heart was pounding so fast he was dizzy (oh, oh God), and he was shaking and he parted his legs, felt the lines of Carlisle’s body in between them. 

The man’s hands slid down his back, pulling him closer, and Edward was so hard he thought he saw stars (fiery hot behind his eyes).

Carlisle’s hands found their way under Edward’s tee shirt to trace icy lines along his ribs.

Your skin is so warm.

Edward closed his eyes, clutched at the man’s shoulders, splayed his knees wide.

You are devastating. 

And he wanted to respond in kind. To tell the man he was breathtaking and beautiful and everything he’d ever wanted, but Carlisle’s hands were at his belt, tugging and pulling, and when cold fingers undid his button and zip, Edward was lost (lost, lost…). 

“I want you,” he breathed, as those cold fingers slipped inside his pants to curl around his cock.

Carlisle moaned, as Edward thrust into his palm, and then the man’s mouth was at his throat (his pulse was a rapid stutter against shivery lips).

Oh God, oh God…

It was impossible to tell whose thoughts were whose, but as he held his breath and tried not to come, he knew the man wanted to bite him. His lust for his blood twined with his want for his body, and that thought was so enticing, so intoxicating that Edward was coming over Carlisle’s hand, his clothes, his own stomach. 

But then he was gone, across the room in an instant (back against the wall, chest heaving), leaving Edward cold and damp and exposed and breathless.

Oh God, no… What have I done?

Edward took a deep breath and found his courage. “Don’t you want me?” He tried not to flinch, tried not to frown, though his entire world was unraveling into pale threads. 

Carlisle took a deep breath (back still against the wall), closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

The slight motion felt like a blade (sliced just below his collarbone), and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh.” At least his voice didn’t crack. His eyes stung, and he hoped the man would leave before he started to cry. 

But Carlisle wasn’t moving. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispered after a few painful moments. 

“There are only so many ways one can say no.”

“What I meant,” voice soft, barely a murmur, “was that I shouldn’t…I can’t want you.” I want you too much. 

“I don’t understand.”

“It is too dangerous. I could hurt you.”

“I’ll talk that chance.”

“I won’t.”

Edward felt as though all the air had been forced from his lungs. He opened his mouth but couldn’t form the words. 

It didn’t matter, though. The man was gone.

21.

Edward stayed in bed the next morning. He hadn’t slept well. He knew part of him was hoping Carlisle would come back, tell him it was a mistake, tell him he wanted him. But, of course, he hadn’t. 

As the sunlight crept across the floor (slats of yellow bright against the wood), Edward wondered if perhaps he could lie there forever. Or maybe he should simply leave, go home to his apartment, to Aro, and to whatever else awaited him there. 

Surely that would be better than seeing Carlisle again, hearing his thoughts and knowing he did not want him. 

A soft knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. He ignored it, rolled over, and pretended to sleep. But Alice was already at his bedside. And though he refused to open his eyes, he could hear her thoughts clearly. 

I know you’re not asleep. You’ve been awake for hours. 

He groaned and opened one eye. She cocked her head to the side, put one hand on a hip. “I know you’re upset. We all are.”

A wave of guilt washed over him. Esme had been murdered. They were in mourning. And he was hiding in bed like a selfish child. Edward sat up, nodding. 

“Get dressed and come downstairs,” she said. “We have a lot to do.”

She turned to walk away but stopped again in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder. “It will be all right, you know. Everything will be all right.”

22.

The next day, they flew to Italy. 

Edward wasn’t certain he understood, but then, he tried not to ask questions.

According to the Cullens’ sources, Aro was no longer in the states. He had returned to Volterra shortly before ordering the attack that killed Esme. Carlisle visibly shook as he listened to Alice and Jasper piece together all the information they’d managed to ascertain.

“Of course not,” the man muttered. “He’d never involve himself in something as plebian as an assassination.”

Though they sat apart from Edward (across the room, huddled over a mass of papers and notes), he was certainly he heard Carlisle’s words clearly.

“What does he intend?”

“That his guard return. Pick us off one by one until they capture the boy.”

Carlisle nodded, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “And he is that confident in their abilities? That he has gone back to Italy and left them to do his dirty work?”

Jasper inclined his head. “Yes.”

The man was silent for a while after that, but Edward could hear his thoughts. Some were capitalized in his mind, distinct and polished. Others were pale (stretched thin like blown glass), as his plan unraveled dangerous, deliberate and clear.

Edward’s heart was pounding in his chest at the mere thought of what Carlisle intended. But never once did the man’s thoughts stray to him…to what they’d done the night before. It was as though that corner of his mind was strangely blank. 

Once, though, Edward caught him looking, and though his stomach knotted with anger (and something else entirely), he couldn’t help but blush and look away. 

23.

The man sat next to him on the plane; Edward hated that he couldn’t help but thrill at his very closeness, of the feel of his body next to his own. 

His thoughts were quiet.

It was nearly an hour into the flight when the man spoke. “Do you know why we are going to Italy?”

Edward nodded. “You intend to kill Aro.”

“Yes,” Carlisle said, crossing his legs. “And do you know why you are accompanying us?”

Edward wasn’t sure why he was going, and he shook his head, “no.”

The man sighed. He sounded tired, though Edward knew that wasn’t the case. 

“Regardless of what you may believe, you have a gift.” The man held up a hand as he started to protest. “And we will not be able to defeat the Volturi without you,” Carlisle continued. Edward could hear clear conviction in his tone, but he wasn’t reassured.

Edward knew Carlisle was disappointed with his inability to hear things more clearly. He could feel his disapproval and reproof through layers of cloudy thoughts (whispy blues and muddy grays. 

“What can I do? How will I possibly be able to help?” It was quite incomprehensible, really. After all, he’d seen how powerful vampires could be, and he was…not. “I cannot fight them. You said so yourself.” He sounded desperate, even to his own ears, but the thought of facing Aro again (and others like him) was beyond terrifying.

“No,” the man said gravely. “You cannot.”

Edward watched as he tapped pale fingers against his thigh. 

“You will require all of our protection.”

“Then why bring me?” Edward’s voice was embarrassingly high, but he couldn’t help it. Panic was (once again) rising in his chest. It bled out of his lungs, ran like ink across his skin “Why?” he asked again, almost surprised that his voice didn’t crack. 

“Because we need you.”

Edward wanted to cry out in frustration; Carlisle’s cryptic non-answers were infuriating. But instead, he closed his eyes, and rummaged through the man’s thoughts. It wasn’t precise or graceful, but Edward could still hear (memories stored away, folded in the corners of Carlisle’s mind). Other ideas skittered across the surface, swelled to the forefront, then glided past before fading again to shadowy depths.

Other thoughts jostled against each other.

An even thrust of hips, a brush of lips, the snap of teeth…

Alice, cheek resting on a gloved hand. ‘He’s the one. I’ve seen it.’

And the man’s fear desire lust curiosity disbelief as he looked across a library at a beautiful boy bent over a stack of books…

“What did Alice see?” Edward asked, pulling back to the present, disentangling himself from the man’s mind. 

And Carlisle smiled (a quick twist of lips that Edward would have missed had he not known the man was smiling). 

“You hear more than you think,” he said simply. 

“What did Alice see?”

“Too much,” Carlisle said softly, looking past Edward to the window. The sun was low in the sky. The man’s too pale complexion was warm in the rose gold light.

“Please, Carlisle,” he pleaded. “I need to know.”

The man seemed to snap out of his reverie. His eyes focused on Edward’s again. “Yes. I suppose you do.”

The stewardess stopped at their row then, and Carlisle didn’t continue. Edward ordered a coffee. Carlisle (of course) shook his head, declining. 

The flight attendant moved on. 

Edward opened a packet of cream and poured it into his cup, watching as the warm brown liquid turned a milky tan. 

“Alice saw us in Volterra,” the man continued after a moment. “But you knew that already.” 

Edward nodded. “Volterra. I hadn’t heard of that place before.”

“It’s where they live – the Volturi. They’ve lived there for as long as anyone remembers.”

“And the Volturi?” Edward asked.

“The Volturi are very old and very powerful.” Carlisle leaned back in his seat; Edward’s eyes traced the pale curve of his throat. “They are as close to royalty as our world has, and they have always enforced the rules that our kind must abide by.” He turned his head sideways, looked at Edward. “It is because of them, that we have been able to coexist peacefully in the human world for thousands of years.”

Edward frowned. “They are peacekeepers?”

Carlisle nodded. 

“I don’t understand. If they desire to maintain peace, why would they attack me?” He swallowed thickly. “Esme?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” the man said. “They are as feared as they are respected.” He inhaled softly, eyes reflecting something Edward did not understand. “They deal quickly and decisively with that which they consider a threat.” He paused, sitting up again. “No one has ever challenged them and lived.”

“Why me?” he asked again, though he knew that it didn’t matter. They had targeted him; reasons were irrelevant.

“You, like your mother before you, are a threat. You are too knowledgeable, and that knowledge brings power.”

“But I’m not… I can’t be—”

Carlisle cut him off. “Perhaps not. But you will be.”

Edward’s heart was pounding painfully against his ribs, and he knew the man could hear it (could feel it on his lips and taste it on his tongue). 

And Edward could feel the want (uncurling like slender fingers in the pit of his stomach, coiling round his hips and the base of his spine, leaving him aching and aroused, aroused…).

Edward shifted in his seat, his own erection pressing awkwardly, uncomfortably against his zip and wondering at how quickly his fear turned to desire.

“And why you?” he managed after several moments, his voice (thick and rough) cutting through the tension like a blade. “Why attack you and your family?”

Carlisle took a slow breath, eyes flashing in the honey warm light. “Because the moment we decided to protect you, we also became a threat.”

The man sat very still (thoughts slipping like water through the crevasses of his mind). He was clearly deciding how much to tell Edward. 

Finally he spoke, serious and low. “Second to the Volturi, we are the largest coven in the vampire world. They have always been…weary of us.” He inhaled again. “However, if we were to have you…if you were to join our family, then the balance of power might shift. And Aro will not let that happen.”

“If I were to join your family…” Edward said, realization slowly taking root, blooming in the very depths of his core. “You mean as a—”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word.

Vampire.

But the idea at once both excited and terrified him greatly. He had never feared yet wanted something so intensely. 

The man appeared physically pained (face drawn, lips a thin line), but he nodded curtly. “Yes.”

Edward exhaled sharply. “So you intend to change me?”

Carlisle looked positively scandalized (eyes wide, skin far too pale). God no… “I couldn’t…I wouldn’t…” 

His mind raced. You must believe me. I will not hurt you. I will never, could never do that to you… Please do not ask me…

“Then why?” Edward asked again. “If it’s not a possibility.”

Carlisle closed his eyes; he was shaking. “Alice has seen…” He stopped, shook his head.

“What? Carlisle, what has she seen?” Edward put his hand on the man’s arm. He did not flinch, did not pull away, but looked down at Edward’s slender fingers (small hand, small wrist) as if wondering how it got there.

He circled his thumb around the man’s wrist bone. “If it’s not a possibility, than why? What did Alice see?”

Carlisle sucked in a rather ragged breath. “That’s just it. She saw…you.”

They sat silently for a long while after that, as Edward tried to digest what he had just learned. The man’s thoughts were oddly quiet, and the air around them vibrated with a strange sort of tension (cloying, bright, and claustrophobic). 

Edward sipped at his (now cooling) coffee and did not look at Carlisle. 

Finally he spoke again. “You are exceptionally powerful.” He glanced across the aisle to where Alice sat, legs curled beneath her, head bobbing in time to her iPod. “All of you.”

Carlisle nodded, waiting for Edward to continue.

“How is it that Aro and the others like him are so much stronger?”

The man pursed his lips as if considering. His thoughts were filled with flickering images…testaments to the Volturi’s horrifying strength. “They are very old,” he finally replied. 

And though Edward wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know, he asked anyway. “How old?”

Carlisle actually laughed, a pleasing sound were it not for the slightly sinister undertone. “Aro would say he was turned 1,300 years before the time of Christ.”

Edward nearly choked on his coffee. “That is unfathomable.”

“Yes. It is, isn’t it?” But the man provided no further elaboration.

“How old are you?” At that, Carlisle looked up (eyes clear and gold). “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever ask me that.”

“I know you are immortal, but yet you look so young.”

The man actually chuckled at that. “I am three hundred and seventy years old.”

Edward took a steadying breath. “And how old were you when you were…” his voice faltered slightly, and he trailed off.

“I was twenty-three when I was turned,” the man responded (a hint of bitterness coloring the words). “A part of me will always be twenty-three.”

Edward frowned, a bit confused at Carlisle’s clear disquiet. “We are practically the same age.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You do not understand. I am far older than you will ever live to be.”

They were silent again. Edward stared down into the murky depths of his coffee cup but did not drink. The man’s thoughts were turbulent, chaotic (a prism of refracted images, ideas, memories, and sound). 

But Edward realized that he was becoming more adept at unraveling it all. Sometimes words, phrases, complete sentences were clear (scrawled across the window of Carlisle’s mind as if spoken aloud). And then there were ideas, stacked one on top of another (some water smooth, others jagged, crystal sharp). 

And Edward was learning to infer meaning from the impressions, to interpret mood and tone and feeling when not explicitly stated.

It made sense, of course. His own ideas were often half-formed, half-thought. He simply had to recognize what he was hearing to begin to flesh out meaning.

Carlisle was upset, mad at himself for not being stronger, for letting emotion obscure his rationale. 

Edward took a sip of coffee (muddy and tepid) to hide the hint of a smile. 

Part of Carlisle still wanted him (though he would continue to deny it, to hate himself for it). Edward was too young (practically an infant), and he was human. That alone made Carlisle’s thoughts, his desires reprehensible. 

But they were still there.

“Can we kill them?” Edward asked after another moment that had stretched and stretched. 

“Pardon?”

“The Volturi. Can they be killed?” 

When Carlisle said nothing, Edward continued. “I’ve read Bram Stoker. Are the legends true?”

The man laughed out loud. “Stoker was not completely wrong. Though, some of his more...creative ideas concerning our strengths and weaknesses are quite absurd.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Stake through the heart?”

“Impossible.”

“Crucifix?”

“Heresy.”

“Aversion to garlic?”

“Not a personal favorite, but no.”

Edward frowned; he could tell that Carlisle liked the way his brow furrowed when he was thinking.

“From what we can devise,” the man began, “those myths were created by our kind to placate the humans, allow them to think they had some recourse, some defense against us.”

Edward chewed on his lip (pink flesh caught between straight white teeth). “So you…the Volturi can’t be killed?”

“We can. Just not by you.”

Edward nodded, conscious again of the pounding of his heart. “You never told me,” he said softly after a pause, “what exactly Alice believes I will do in Volterra.” 

23.

They arrived at the hotel just after midnight. The place was lovely (bordering on opulent) and far more luxurious than anywhere Edward had ever been. 

And though he was exhausted, Edward sat on the sofa in their spacious suite and listened dutifully while Jasper and Carlisle mapped out their plan for the last time. 

It was odd; for once, he did not feel frightened. And it was not because the situation wasn’t terrifying. It was beyond so. But it was as though all the fear, panic, hysteria, despair, and disbelief had bled out of his body. Through endless exposure, Edward was now numb.

Once the meeting was complete Edward remained on the couch. Emmett had taken Rosalie by the hand, led her to their adjoining room; Alice had followed Jasper to theirs. Carlisle stood behind him silently; his thoughts were also still. 

Then he ran a hand over the top of Edward’s head, carding pale fingers through his hair. Edward shivered and felt something tighten in the pit of his stomach. 

The man pulled his hand away.

“Do it again,” he found himself saying.

“Later.”


	5. Part V

24.

They walked through a narrow stone corridor, deep underground, within the very bowels of the city. It smelled dank and musty, of old age and times long past. 

The whisper of soft (nearly silent) thoughts pressed at the edges of Edward’s mind. Echoes of memories that drifted through damp air, clung to ancient walls.

He did his best to ignore them.

Jasper and Alice led the way; his palm rested on the small of his wife’s back. Her mind rifled through a seemingly endless stream of possible futures. Edward caught glimpses of her visions, colored swatches and momentary fragments.

Carlisle and Edward walked behind. The man kept close to his side, but did not touch him. 

Emmett and Rose followed swiftly, silently.

No one spoke, though Edward could sense the undercurrent of fear, of concern twining with an almost preternatural alertness. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs; he desperately needed a cigarette. 

Without thinking, Edward shifted closer to Carlisle. Their hands brushed. The man slid his forefinger across Edward’s palm before letting his hand fall away again. 

They reached a narrow staircase, creeping up into the darkness and stopped.

Alice turned toward them. “They don’t know we’re coming.”

Carlisle nodded. “Are you sure?” 

She paused, biting her lip. “Yes. But they will pretend that they do, that they are expecting us.”

The man nodded again. “And the others?”

Alice closed her eyes. “The guard is not here. They are on their way but should not make it in time.”

“You must be certain,” Jasper said, placing a hand on her shoulder. His voice was low and intense. 

“I am.” She looked up at him. “They know we left town shortly after…” Her voice wavered, but she swallowed once and continued, “shortly after Esme. But they do not know we came here. They simply think we took the boy and fled.”

“And that’s why it had to be here,” Carlisle said, smiling softly at the girl. “Well done, Alice.”

She pursed her lips. “Nothing is done yet.”

“Right,” Carlisle spoke again. “They should be in the great hall.” He looked to Alice for confirmation, and she nodded (a quick bob of her head). “The room is spacious, but there is not much in way of protection. Once we are there, we will be exposed.”

The others nodded, their expressions somber.

Edward could feel his heart in his throat; blood rushed in his ears.

“Jasper and I will handle Aro. Though he is anything but predictable, I know him best.” His voice was calm as he reiterated their strategy. “Alice, Rose, your attention will be on Marcus and Caius. They are very strong, but both prefer not to get their hands dirty.”

Edward forced himself to continue breathing (in, out, in again). Carlisle placed a cold hand on his back, right between his shoulder blades, but kept his eyes on the two girls. 

“Once Aro is out of the equation, I do not believe the others will perpetuate an attack.”

Again Alice nodded in agreement.

“And the wives?” Rose asked.

Jasper shook his head. “No. The wives do not fight.”

“Emmett,” the man said, turning to face the largest vampire. “You will protect Alice and Rose. Do what you can to help them, but you must defend Edward.”

Emmett nodded.

“His role is paramount, and he will be defenseless against them.”

Rosalie huffed audibly. Though her thoughts were a jumble of indecipherable emotion, Edward could literally feel her irritation, her fear, her anger.

“Carlisle,” she said, voice clipped, terse. It was clear she was doing everything in her power to remain calm. “Why are we bringing him? He is only a liability.” She looked at Edward with something akin to loathing. 

He could not disagree with her assessment.

Edward knew he was helpless, and Rosalie’s husband, her entire family were putting themselves in grave danger because of him. “She’s right,” he whispered. He could barely make his mouth form the words. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Carlisle ignored him. “Edward is here because he is the only chance we have. We need him, and we will do everything in our power to protect him.” His eyes were cold, unblinking. “Is that clear?”

Rosalie ducked her head. “Yes Carlisle.”

“Good.” The man looked at Edward then. He was masking his thoughts, but his expression revealed his concern. “We will protect you, but you must stay out of the way.”

Edward nodded, tried to slow the pounding of his heart. 

The man gripped Edward’s shoulders. “Look at me.”

Edward did.

“You must listen carefully. You will hear something. Something important.”

He was shaking his head. “No…”

“Yes,” the man insisted. “I know you will.”

Edward swallowed quickly, tried to bite back the rising panic. “How will I know? How will I know what’s important?”

The man smiled slightly (a tight curve of lovely lips). “Trust me. You will.”

They climbed the narrow staircase in single file. Carlisle kept a reassuring hand on Edward’s hip. He fought the urge to lean into the touch, to sink to the floor, to stop moving altogether. Somehow he managed to keep going, one step after another.

The walls were lined with torches, flickering against the dark. Water (black like ink, like blood) dripped down cracked gray stone. 

After a seemingly endless progression of steps, they emerged into an open corridor. Light spilled in from a window high overhead. 

It was eerily quiet. 

“Alice?” Carlisle asked.

She closed her eyes, shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

“Good.”

They walked through a door into a large vestibule. The stone floor gave way to white marble. The walls were lined with stained glass. Colored light (ruby, amber, sapphire, green) bathed the room in a jewel hued glow. 

As they moved quickly through a series of rooms (each more opulent than the last), Edward began to feel as though they were in a museum. They passed halls filled with countless numbers of no doubt priceless paintings and sculptures. There were rooms hung with extravagant tapestries and others lined with furs and exquisite Oriental rugs.

When they walked by a doorway opening onto the most breathtaking library Edward had ever seen, he almost forgot his fear. 

Carlisle stepped behind him, as he paused to stare. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Aro knows a thing or two about luxury.” His hand brushed the back of Edward’s arm. “I lived here once, you know.”

Edward hadn’t known. “No,” he whispered. Frankly the thought startled him. 

“It was a very long time ago.” The man’s thoughts softened for a moment, but that was all. “Come. We must go.”

Soon they came to a long hallway leading to a heavy wooden door. 

“They know,” Alice whispered suddenly, face paler than usual.

“That was to be expected,” Carlisle said, as he looked at the others. “It’s time.”

Emmett moved to stand directly in front of Edward, as Jasper pushed open the door. 

It led to a large open room. He saw Aro immediately. He was seated on a raised dais, flanked by two equally beautiful, dangerous men: the other Volturi. 

“Ah, Carlisle,” Aro said. He did not stand. “What a pleasure it is to see you again.” His eyes were a pale, bloody crimson. “And you’ve brought your lovely family.”

“Aro,” Carlisle said, voice flat. Then: “Marcus, Caius.” He inclined his head as he addressed the others.

The blond man said nothing, did not acknowledge Carlisle at all; rather, he continued to stare down at his no doubt perfectly manicured fingernails.

Marcus, though, smiled a genuine smile. “Carlisle, it has been far too long.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Aro echoed before he could say anything else. “And we must express our deepest condolences for the recent loss of your wife.”

Carlisle went perfectly rigid, though his expression remained unreadable. Edward listened as his thoughts flashed from anger to grief to sadness to fury. 

Rosalie growled, low in her throat. The sound was predatory, nearly feral, and it chilled the blood in Edward’s veins. Emmett placed a hand on her shoulder, willing her to remain calm. No. Not yet. Don’t let him get to you.

After a moment, Carlisle spoke, “you know she was not my wife.” His voice was controlled, carefully measured. “But she was my partner. The mother to my family. We all feel her loss greatly.”

“Of course you do,” Aro said, the shadow of a smile flickering across his face. “Sometimes, I believe, we all take our…permanence on this earth for granted.”

“Yes,” Carlisle’s hands clenched into fists. “Perhaps we do.” Edward knew his control was wearing dangerously thin. But he also knew that Aro was baiting him, knew it was all a cruel game to him.

“Well, enough of this depressing talk. There is no reason to dwell on that which we cannot change.” The vampire actually smiled at that, a malevolent twist of pale lips. “And, I see you’ve brought me your pet.” 

His gaze fell on Edward then, and it was all he could do not to cringe at the unnatural stare. Aro inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering closed. “Yes. He is lovely. I understand, Carlisle, why he appeals to you.”

Alice’s back stiffened (he could see the tight line of her spine). She stepped backward so that he shoulder touched Edward’s. Emmett rocked forward on the balls of his feet, powerful body tense, poised to lung. Edward forced down his fear, held his breath, and directed every ounce of his energy toward the man. He listened desperately, blocking everything else out. 

Yet Aro’s thoughts were completely, entirely, shockingly bare.

It was as thought he were staring into an endless abyss. There was absolutely nothing there. And that utter void was terrifying.

“How charming,” Aro said, lips twisting further. Then he laughed, a sinister sound. “Carlisle, you must tell the boy that his gift will not work on me. Though,” he steepled thin fingers together, “I am so pleased to see that he is learning to focus his skills.” He rose to his feet, clasping white hands in front of his body. “He will fit in so nicely here.”

“We have not brought him to you, Aro. He will not be joining your ranks.”

The man frowned. He actually looked surprised at Carlisle’s comment, as though it had never occurred to him that he might be denied. “Pardon?”

“We will not surrender the boy,” Carlisle’s voice was firm, authoritative. “He is not yours to use according to fancy or whim.”

Aro’s face hardened. All pretence of amity vanished, and his bloodied eyes flashed dangerously. “Then, you see, we have quite a problem.” 

Everything happened very quickly after that. 

The other two men were on their feet, though it was Aro that lunged forward. Jasper moved, lightening quick, flinging his body between the ancient vampire and the others. Their bodies collided with a horrendous thud, and Edward felt Emmett’s powerful arms tug him out of the way just before they crashed to the ground right where Edward had been standing. 

Aro was on top of Jasper, his arm at his throat. 

Edward knew Jasper was incredibly strong, yet it was clear the older vampire was far stronger. Strange, Edward thought absently; his body seemed quite fragile. 

As Jasper struggled beneath him (twisting, clawing, biting), Edward heard Alice cry out (Jasper!), but she did not move from her position beside Rosalie; the two girls stood between them and the other two Volturi. 

“Watch them!” Carlisle yelled, as he moved to help Jasper, hands clutching at Aro’s shoulders. The vampire loosened his hold on Jazz’s neck, but kept him pinned easily against the ground. 

“Now, now, Carlisle,” he said, throwing Carlisle off with apparent ease. “There is really no need for violence.” Even as he said the words, Caius and Marcus circled closer to Alice and Rose. The girls shifted slightly, watching their movement. 

Emmett kept his body in front of Edward, as Carlisle lunged at Aro once more. This time he succeeded in pulling him back, and Jasper was on his feet in an instant. 

“Edward will be happy here,” he continued, turning as Jasper and Carlisle circled around him. “I will give him power, prestige, immortality.” Though outnumbered, Aro’s voice was conversational and unconcerned. 

Edward tried to listen again, tried to slip unguarded into vampire’s thoughts, but still there was nothing.

His fear swelled to a new height, as he tried once more (desperately) to find something in the seemingly empty space inside his mind.

But still there was nothing.

“You can’t have the boy, Aro,” Carlisle growled, distracting Edward from his task. He had never heard the man’s voice so fierce. 

But the vampire simply shrugged an elegant shoulder and nodded to Caius and Marcus. They moved closer to Alice and Rosalie. 

Though the Cullens were five and the Volturi three, Edward knew they were surrounded. The ancient vampires were simply waiting for the moment they would strike as one.

Jasper and Carlisle moved, each mirroring the other’s motion, their attention only on Aro. But the man simply stood, perfectly still, posture relaxed; his lips curved into a unsettling smile. He was obviously enjoying things immensely.

Then Jasper lunged once more, and as Aro moved out of his grasp, Edward heard the old vampire sigh. 

“Are you quite certain this is what you wish, Carlisle?” he asked, tone resigned. “It will not end well.”

And for one hysterical moment, Edward wanted to give himself up, surrender to Aro (anything to protect Carlisle, protect the Cullens). But Emmett must have sensed what he was thinking because he moved backward in one fluid moment, pushing Edward against the wall. The impact forced the air out of his lungs; he tried to move but was held fast. 

No. Emmett’s thoughts practically growled at him. You will not do anything to compromise Carlisle’s plans.

“But I—” he managed to gasp, and Aro looked over at him expectantly. 

“Ah, yes, Edward,” he said cheerfully. “How entirely inconsiderate of us to not ask for your opinion.”

“Don’t hurt them,” he pleaded. He couldn’t move. Emmett’s shoulder was bruising his collarbone. 

The vampire laughed (a quick burst of sinister sound). “I have no desire to hurt anyone. I simply…”

“Now!” Carlisle’s voice interrupted him and in a moment (blurred by movement quicker than sound) the Cullens attacked. Carlisle and Jasper flew at Aro, managing to catch him off guard, the same moment the two girls struck (Rose throwing herself at Caius, Alice at Marcus). 

They moved too fast; Edward’s eyes couldn’t keep up. But he saw the flash of motion as Aro’s arm connected with Carlisle’s chest. The man’s body soared through the air and crashed into an ornate column ten feet away. Chunks of marble fell the floor, as he collapsed to the ground a few feet in front of Edward.

Edward bit his lip to keep from crying out. His heart was pounding so loudly against his ribs, he could barely hear above the rush of blood. But he could do nothing. He couldn’t even move from where Emmett held him against the wall. 

Jasper dove for Aro, but the vampire dodged him easily, spinning around to face Edward and Emmett again. His pale face was alive with a feverish, fanatical glow. Edward tried to clear his head, tried to listen for what he was supposed to hear, but the steady whine of panic in his head threatened to drown everything else out. 

Carlisle was struggling to get to his feet again. 

And as Alice managed to knock Marcus to the ground, Caius had Rosalie round the waist, mouth dangerously close to her neck. Edward felt Emmett’s sudden rush of panic.

And though he frantically listened for something (anything), all rational thought was obscured by the chaos of battle. Thoughts and emotions, colors and sound clashed violently, and in the end everything was smudged beyond recognition. 

“Oh,” Aro exclaimed, once again dancing beyond Jasper’s reach. “I imagine this situation seems familiar. Doesn’t it, dear Rose?”

She struggled against Caius’ grasp, but said nothing. 

“Except for you are now in her position, hmm?”

“Rosalie…” Emmett breathed, and Edward saw the girl shake her head slightly. Her husband did not move from his position protecting Edward.

“Yes,” Aro continued, “I imagine you now know exactly how your lovely Esme felt, just before her death.”

Edward wanted to scream out, but in that moment, everything seemed to stand still. Carlisle and Jasper stood on either side of Aro, though they both seemed to understand that any sudden movement would result in Rose’s death.

Alice remained on top of Marcus, but she was no longer attacking him. And Emmett held his breath, watching, waiting. 

Then Edward heard it, an unspoken voice that was not Aro’s. 

Edward…

He jerked his head up, listening carefully. 

Edward, tell the girl to save her sister. I will not hurt any of you.

Edward looked to the ground and (yes) Marcus’ eyes caught his. His face was serene, calm. The man nodded once (a minute dip of his head), and Edward knew this was what he’d been waiting for. 

You must tell her now. There is little time.

“Alice…” he barely whispered the word. Edward could hardly hear it on his own lips. But Alice did. 

She did not move, but her thoughts were clear. What?

“Look.”

And when the girl closed her eyes, he knew she was seeing the future she needed to see. 

In a moment she was on her feet, pulling Caius away from Rose, twisting him against her body. Rosalie turned on the vampire instantly, helping her sister hold him. 

“Carlisle, Jasper!” Edward cried. “Now!” He pushed at Emmett and he understood. Together the three men charged at Aro. 

The ancient vampire lunged too, this time toward Edward. The impact sent him crashing back into the wall. The sensation was oddly surreal. He heard himself cry out, but the sound seemed distant and muted, as if he were listening to himself underwater. His head ached. His muscles tensed, then his body relaxed voluntarily. Pain cut quick, sliced across his shoulder, down the center of his chest. It pulled at his spine, jarred his skull, and blurred his vision.

But then he knew that Emmett and Jasper had Aro by the arms, as Carlisle pulled him to the floor. And though the vampire was unthinkably strong, he could not fight off the three Cullens together. Not without help, at least. 

And Marcus was standing off to the side, regarding the scene with a chilling impassivity. (Caius, still held by Rose and Alice, made no visible move to break free.)

Edward saw blackness prick across his vision; he could not keep his eyes open any longer.

25.

Carlisle had him in his arms. Of that much, Edward was certain.

He smelled smoke. Fire. But he knew he was not burning. The man’s lovely face swam into view for a moment and then was gone. Darkness oozed around his eyes, slipping into his view; there was only light in pinpricks. His entire body hurt.

Yet, he could feel the steady rhythm of Carlisle’s chest, as he breathed in and out against him. 

“And what do you intend to do now, Carlisle?” Caius asked, the vampire’s voice cut, clear and cool, though his mind’s haze. Though his tone seemed bored, Edward could sense an undercurrent of apprehension slipping between his words. “Take the place Aro has vacated?”

Edward wondered vacantly where Marcus had gone.

“No,” the man said. “I only wish to take my family and go home.”

“I see,” Caius said, though it was rather clear he didn’t. “And do you now intend to turn him? He has lost a great deal of blood.” His voice carried a faint note of distaste.

Through half-closed eyes, Edward still registered the detached expression on the old vampire’s face. He regarded him as one might a particularly dull science experiment. 

Carlisle tensed, reflexively, instinctively, arms tightening around him.

Edward groaned as a new wave of pain washed over him. The man’s grip loosened slightly. 

“No,” he said. “I will not do that to him.”

“Pity,” Caius said, milky red eyes flickering to Edward once again, “just think of how…interesting his particular talents would be.”

“Perhaps,” Carlisle said, voice clipped. His concern bled through the indistinct layers of Edward’s consciousness. “But that does not give anyone the right to take his life away.”

The vampire shrugged as if tiring of the proceedings. “My dear Carlisle, you have always been afflicted by such a plebian sense of morality.”

“Be that as it may, he is injured. We must leave so I can attend to him.”

“Yes, yes. Of course,” Caius said apathetically (as if it made no difference one way or the other). “Take the human and go. I will give you twenty-four hours to leave the city.” He looked down at his shoulder, brushing an invisible speck of lint off his cloak. “After that, I cannot assure that my colleagues will be so…accommodating.”

26\. 

Back at the hotel, Carlisle helped Edward onto the bed. He quickly took his medical kit and laid out supplies. The others had left the suite. There was too much blood; the allure was too strong. 

Only Alice remained. She stood in the doorway a safe distance away (her thoughts skipping like a stone across water). “There is so much blood Carlisle. Why are you ignoring what I’ve seen?”

“Because that is not the only future, Alice.” Edward felt a cool hand at his forehead. “It cannot be.”

“Why?” the girl asked, voice soft. “You would be happy.”

Carlisle’s hand fell away. “My feelings are irrelevant.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t be.”

The man’s hands removed his clothing (cold, clinical fingers tugging at his shirt). Somewhere, in a murky corner of Edward’s mind, he wished the circumstances were different, that Carlisle would undress him, touch him for real. Another wave of pain brought him back to the present, to Carlisle’s hands mapping a trail across his ribs, precisely, assuredly, tenderly assessing the damage. 

A warm cloth dabbed at his collarbone, swept across his chest; Carlisle’s cold touch soothed the sting, and Edward felt the now dulled prick and tug as the man worked to knit his skin back together.

Practiced stitches crisscrossing smooth skin. 

Then the lovely comforting calming hands were gone and he immediately missed their chill. 

But those same fingers stroked along his jaw, opened his mouth to pour bitter medicine on his tongue. “Swallow, Edward,” his voice whispered. “You need to sleep. There is a little time before we need to leave.”

And Edward allowed his mind to drift aimlessly as the drug took effect, floating slowly (though layers of gray and blue) until everything was thoughtless, weightless, still.

27.

Edward awoke feeling thick and heavy (as though surfacing from underwater). Everything was cloudy and out of focus, yet he was acutely aware of the man’s presence beside him. 

For a while he dozed, drifting fitfully between sleep and wakefulness. His body ached, and pain (though dulled by drugs) still slit through his awareness. Still, he knew Carlisle was there. 

When he rolled over again it was the middle of the night. The red glow of the digital clock illuminated the room. Edward groaned and sat up, trailing his fingers over the bandage that wrapped round his ribs. 

“How do you feel?” the man asked. He sat perfectly still on the edge of the bed, back against the headboard. 

“Better, I think,” Edward said, twisting from side to side. But a sharp twinge (like a blade slicing below his clavicle) made him cry out, and Carlisle was at his side in an instant.

“Here, what is it? Lie back, try not to move.” Cold hands pressed at his chest, palm sliding across his ribcage. “The cut was deep. You will have a scar.” Carlisle’s voice was dispassionate, revealing none of the concern that sparked across his mind. “But it missed your major blood vessels. I was able to stitch it up. Otherwise—” his fingertips pressed at a particularly tender spot then, and Edward gasped, cutting the man off.

“Bruised but not broken,” he said simply. “You will be sore for several days, but you were quite lucky.” His hands fell away from Edward’s torso; he felt their absence intensely. “We will not leave for another hour or so. You should try to get some more rest.”

Edward sat up, ignoring the sudden stab of pain, and shifted closer to the other man. “I’m fine. I do feel better.”

“Do you want more medicine?” Carlisle asked, his tone still clinical. “Your body needs time to recover.”

“Perhaps later.”

“I’ll leave you then. Try to sleep.” He moved to stand up, but Edward placed a hand on his arm. 

“No. Stay.”

Carlisle looked down at where Edward’s fingers curled around his wrist. Even through the linen of his shirt, Edward could feel the chill of the man’s skin against his palm. The sensation had become strangely comforting. 

“Why didn’t you change me?” he asked, voice barely a murmur.

Carlisle inhaled sharply, pulling his arm away. His thoughts raced, turbulent, reckless and chaotic. 

“You could have turned me,” he whispered, looking directly at the other man. “I know what Alice saw.”

“Alice saw nothing,” he snapped. “One mere possibility amidst a sea of potential outcomes.”

“But you wanted to,” Edward said, reaching out to brush a fingertip against the man’s hand again. “I know you wanted to.”

“What I want matters little.”

“But what if I want that too?”

Carlisle turned to him, gold eyes wild; he looked horrified. “Then you have no idea what you want.”

“No, I…” Edward started to protest, but Carlisle shook his head.

“You do not know what you’re asking of me.”

“But I thought…you said, well…” Edward faltered, tongue tripping over the words. “What happened between us…I thought you wanted me.”

The man said nothing.

“But I understand that can’t happen with me…” human, vulnerable… “like this,” he finished lamely.

Carlisle shook his head, still said nothing.

Edward tried to slip inside his thoughts only to find them carefully blank.

“That night, when we were together,” Edward tried again. “I was…” happy, but even in his head the word sounded trite, inelegant. “It was what I wanted,” he whispered instead. “You have to know that. And, if I were like you, then we could make it work.”

“No.” His voice was cold; it chilled Edward more than the man’s touch ever could. “Listen to me, Edward,” he continued slowly, enunciating each word clearly, deliberately. “What happened between us was a mistake. It was nothing more than a serious lapse of judgment. And, for that, I have no excuse,” he paused, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Aside from, of course, the grief I was suffering over the loss of Esme.”

Edward wasn’t in love with the man (no, nothing as foolishly sentimental as that), but the words still sliced like a blade. He was certain he felt the skin tearing just below his collarbone, leaving him bleeding again.

Somehow, though, he managed to bite back the small cry rising in his throat and just nodded. “Oh…”

His chest ached.

“Now, if that’s all, Mr. Masen, I have several things I must take care of before we depart.” 

The hand around his heart tightened its grip.

“Oh…oh, of course,” he managed, voice choked and rough and humiliating. 

Edward felt as though he’d been slapped. He could no longer tell if the ache in his chest was from the physical injury he’d sustained or the emotional blow Carlisle had just dealt. Something felt like it had been forcibly ripped from his chest (behind his ribs, just below his heart). 

Through all their interactions, the man had never called him anything other than Edward. 

Without another word, Carlisle stood and left the room.


	6. Part VI

28.

Carlisle sat beside Edward on the plane. 

It made sense, of course, as both Alice and Rose sat with their husbands.

He was politely cordial if a bit reserved. They could just as easily have been two strangers seated beside one another.

Edward watched out of the corner of his eye as the man crossed one ankle over a knee, unfolding a newspaper. His mind was awash with stock market quotes and financial speculation. 

For a while they did not speak. When Edward stretched out his legs, wincing a bit at lingering soreness, Carlisle turned to look at him. 

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he said, trying not to grimace as he leaned back in his seat. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

The man’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “You do not bother me, Edward.”

“Yeah, well…” he responded trying not to sound petulant, but he was tired and didn’t feel like making small talk. The man didn’t want him; he’d made that perfectly clear. Edward had no desire to act as though everything was okay. 

The man folded his newspaper and slipped it back into his satchel. “I am sorry you were injured.” His thoughts matched the sincerity of his tone.

“I was lucky,” Edward mumbled. “You said so yourself.”

“Yes. Lucky your injuries were not far more extreme,” Carlisle said slowly. “Not lucky to have been in such a situation to begin with.”

Edward shrugged. He really didn’t want to talk about it. 

“You did nothing wrong, Edward,” the man said, as if reading his thoughts.

“None of us would have been in that situation had it not been for me,” he muttered rather sullenly. “So I can hardly complain about my injuries, now, can I?”

“Listen to me, Edward,” Carlisle said, voice low. “You were thrust into a situation beyond your control by a creature who had been planning it since before you were even conceived.”

Edward took a deep breath and realized something. “He was once your friend.”

“Hmm?” the man asked calmly, but his thoughts flashed back to that room, to his own hands as they helped to tear the ancient vampire limb from limb.

“Aro. You were once friends.”

“Ah,” Carlisle waved a hand dismissively. “Yes. But that was several lifetimes ago.” His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but sadness and resignation lapped against the edges of his mind.

“I’m sorry.” Edward brushed a tentative finger along his wrist. “I am sorry you had to do that.”

Carlisle nodded, a silent thank you, flickering across his consciousness. “After 3,000 years, I am afraid Aro was quite mad, drunk on power and knowledge and an unspeakable number of memories.” He sighed, smoothing his palm down his thigh. “It was time. And though our world might have recognized that truth, I believe it had to be us. We were the only ones capable. And we were only capable at that particular moment…with you.” He smiled, a soft sad smile. “It was necessary.”

“I’m still sorry.”

The man nodded again but said nothing.

“Why did he do it?” Edward asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m sorry?”

“Marcus. Why did he betray Aro?”

“I think he believed it was time for a change.” Carlisle was quiet for a moment as he sorted through layers of thoughts, memories, contradictions. “Aro was too dangerous. And he was far too accustomed to taking whatever he wanted, regardless of consequence. A frightening trait for madman.”

Edward nodded. “I heard something about a wife.”

A strange emotion slipped across Carlisle’s mind, but it was gone before Edward could decipher it.

“A very long time ago,” he began slowly, “Aro had Marcus’ wife killed.”

Edward gasped (a quick rush of air out of his lungs). “Why?”

“Didyme was Aro’s sister. When she fell in love with Marcus, Aro worried that he would lose Marcus and his abilities. There was talk of them leaving the Volturi.” Carlisle frowned. “Aro could not let that happen, so he murdered her.”

“And Marcus did nothing?” Edward couldn’t hide his disbelief. 

“What could he do?” Carlisle asked softly. “Aro would have killed him just as readily. He sighed, a tired sound. “Aro orchestrated events so that Didyme died in battle. But Marcus knew he was responsible.”

Though Edward knew what the vampire was capable of, he was still horrified. 

“But I suppose,” Carlisle continued after a few moments, “he was finally able to take his revenge.”

“When did she die?”

“Over 2,500 years ago. But once a vampire chooses his mate, it is permanent. Marcus will never stop loving her.”

29.

Carlisle liked watching Edward sleep. It fascinated him.

He was curled in on himself, back pressed against the armrest. Edward sighed, still half asleep, and listened to the man’s thoughts.

His tee shirt had ridden up, exposing a pale slice of skin and the jut of a hipbone above his jeans. Carlisle found this sight far too appealing.

Edward could hear Alice too, though her voice was a bare murmur. “You care for him.”

“Of course I do.”

They were quiet for a while before she said softly, “He thinks it was just about Esme.” 

He turned to Alice then. In Carlisle’s mind, Edward could see her lift her chin defiantly.

“A grief fuck, I believe, is what he called it.” Her words dripped with disgust.

“That’s all it was,” he said flatly. 

Liar. “You don’t believe that.”

Carlisle didn’t respond.

“I know you don’t.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His tone clearly indicated that the discussion was over, but Alice persisted. 

“I’ve seen it, Carlisle. And he wants you.”

“He doesn’t know what he wants.”

Edward could practically see her frustration. “Regardless,” she said, “he’s chosen you.”

30.

It was past midnight when they finally landed. They drove in silence to the Cullens.’ Though Carlisle offered to take Edward home, he really didn’t feel like returning to his empty apartment alone. 

Alice seemed to understand. “Let him stay, Carlisle. Just for the night. It’s late, and his room is still made up. I can take him home in the morning.”

The man acquiesced with a curt nod and led the way inside.

Edward had just finished getting ready for bed when he heard the knock at his door (a soft stutter of his heart). 

“Yes?” His mouth had barely finished uttering the word when the man was beside his bed.

“I, I’m sorry to bother you,” the man said, uncharacteristically unsure. He looked at Edward and then down at his shoes. 

“You’re not,” Edward said, trying to listen, trying to understand why Carlisle was there. He found he could slip into the man’s mind rather easily, avoiding the onslaught of raw emotion and metal confusion, to sink deeper and deeper still. 

And Edward knew he was letting him read his thought; it was easier, of course, than speaking the words out loud.

I’m sorry I hurt you. I want you want you want you.

And, if you let me have you, I will always want you. It’s wrong… so wrong. 

“No,” Edward said softly, and the man’s eyes held his (clear and gold and beautiful). 

“Once a vampire chooses his mate…” Carlisle began softly.

“I know. It’s permanent.” 

The man took a step closer then hesitated, running a hand over his face. 

Edward stood. He could feel Carlisle’s rising panic. The man gasped when he touched him (a soft slide of fingers down his arms). Then he was pulled against Carlisle’s cool chest. The comfort, the connection, the closeness was welcome, and Edward slipped his own arms around the man’s waist.

“Yes…” he thought he heard the man murmur into his hair, but he was too distracted by the press of Carlisle’s body against his. 

The man’s hand trailed lightly down his spine to rest at the curve of his hip, and Edward shivered at the intimate contact. 

“So lovely…” the man whispered, breath cool and sweet against Edward’s cheek. I am not certain how much longer I can resist you…

“Then don’t,” the boy said, turning to touch his mouth to Carlisle’s throat. “Don’t resist.”

Carlisle hissed (from the words or the press of lips, Edward wasn’t sure) and shifted his hips, so they pressed against Edward’s.

Encouraged, he tilted his head, letting his mouth trail upward, lips grazing the man’s chin before hovering dangerously close to Carlisle’s mouth. He heard the man’s sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t move; he simply allowed Edward to ghost his mouth back and forth along his own lips. 

But then, he lifted trembling hands to the boy’s shoulders and pushed him back gently. “Stop.” Do not tempt me.

“I want to.”

But I never meant to feel this way about you. It’s dangerous, and it’s wrong.

“You understand,” he said carefully, “that once we do this…” he trailed off, but Edward understood. 

“Yes.”

Carlisle pressed his mouth to Edward’s forehead (a cool touch of lips). “We are such static creatures,” the man whispered into his hair. “Our attitudes and feelings are remarkably fixed.”

Edward leaned into his touch.

“Should our constitutions change, however, that change is not easily undone.”

“Good,” he breathed against the man’s throat. 

Carlisle pulled away and looked at Edward for a long moment, as if attempting to read into his thoughts. 

Edward smiled. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“I suppose so.” Then he reached out (ever so slightly) and touched his hand to Edward’s cheek. 

His fingers were cold.

Edward closed his eyes.

And because the man had come to him and because to be rejected again couldn’t possibly hurt more than not trying and not having and wanting, and because the ache in his chest only seemed to lessen when they were touching, Edward leaned up and brushed his lips over Carlisle’s.

And suddenly they were kissing.

The man’s hand slipped down to stroke soft circles on the small of his back. Fingers slid under the thin cotton of his tee shirt to smooth over soft skin. And Edward groaned into Carlisle’s mouth and curled his own fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

The man pulled him closer (flush against the hard line of body), causing Edward to wince as pain flared across bruised ribs. 

Carlisle recoiled instantly; he was across the room in the space of a breath.

“No,” Edward said, in a voice that was too rough, too desperate.

“I, I can’t. I won’t hurt you.”

But even as he said the words, images flashed across the surface of his mind (bright like moonstone, jagged, and mirror sharp).

Edward gasping beneath him, hands in his hair, legs wrapped tight around his thighs.

Carlisle’s back against the wall (Edward was on his knees), as Carlisle thrust helplessly into his warm mouth.

Their bodies, limbs intertwined, as Carlisle mouthed along the tendon between Edward’s shoulder and neck. His teeth scraped lightly against too soft skin. 

Each new scene surged to the forefront of the man’s thoughts, shining briefly there before being replaced by something equally surpassingly devastatingly more decadent. Edward could see each clearly, and the images left him hard and aching.

He stepped back until his thighs hit the edge of the bed then sat down, extending a hand.

Carlisle stared at that hand (trembling, palm-up) for a long time. But then he reached for it (pale fingers curling round his own), and held it up to his mouth. Edward gasped as icy lips kissed his palm.

And then a cold body was sliding over Edward’s, pushing him back into the pillows.

Carlisle’s thoughts were a blur after that, smudged like chalk, like charcoal, like pastels and out of focus, but it didn’t matter because his hands were slipping under Edward’s shirt, smoothing across the flat of his stomach to trace lines along his ribcage. 

He cried out as the man’s lips slid along the column of his throat, cold tongue lapping when too sharp teeth grazed soft skin. “Yes…oh, oh yes…”

Carlisle was sliding his clothing down, past his hips, over knees and calves, and Edward’s hands clutched and tugged at Carlisle’s clothes until his fingers were frozen. But as he worked to undo the man’s buttons, to expose inch after inch of flawlessly pale flesh, heat seemed to bloom between them (on their lips and on their tongues and between their bodies where Edward’s overheated skin met Carlisle’s cool chest).

Carlisle was beautiful naked.

The man pulled back, staring down at Edward’s body (all limbs and sharp angles); gold eyes moved over his chest and down (lower and lower still) until Edward blushed, cheeks warming pink. 

You’re lovely…

And Edward leaned up to kiss him again. He could feel the man’s erection pressed against his thigh and just the thought that he had done that to him, that Carlisle wanted him, was nearly enough to make him come.

“Is this…” what you want?

“Yes, God yes,” Edward breathed, shifting so their cocks touched, slid against each other; the muscles in his stomach were already tense, his thighs already trembling. He dug his heels into the mattress, jerking his hips up, and he knew Carlisle was breathless, dizzy, desperate as he steadied himself above him, forearms framing Edward’s face.

Edward shivered, and Carlisle smiled an easy, soft, beautiful smile before kissing a cool line down the center of his chest. The sheets were soft between his fingers, and he gripped them tightly when the man slid his tongue down the length of his cock.

(Oh…oh God…)

And when Carlisle swallowed him into his mouth, Edward had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out, to keep from begging the man to suck him, lick him, let him come in his mouth. Instead, he pushed his hips up with a gasp, and twined his fingers in blond hair.

Carlisle chuckled, lips still sliding, sliding, and moved a hand to his hip to hold him still. His other hand rested on Edward’s thigh, fingers stroking gently, as he flicked his tongue at the base of his shaft. And Edward gasped again as he shook (stomach muscles tight, eyes wide at the sight of Carlisle’s lips around his cock).

He was embarrassed at the sounds slipping from his mouth, but the man only increased the suction, and it was so tight and cold and perfect, perfect, perfect…

“S-stop,” he choked out, and Carlisle pulled away quickly, his lips damp and red (so red).

“What’s wrong?” Are you all right? Did I hurt you?

“No,” Edward assured, fingers stroking down Carlisle’s neck. “But I’ll come, and I…” he trailed off, could feel himself blushing, and the man shifted to lie beside him again. 

“And you what?” he asked softly, fingertip brushing against his cheek.

“I don’t want to come,” he managed, as Carlisle’s tongue traced the shell of his ear. “Not yet…not like that.”

“What do you want, Edward?” he whispered, breath a cool huff against his temple. 

Edward shivered and pressed himself closer to the man’s perfect body. “You. I want you.” And in that moment, he realized he never wanted anything more than he wanted Carlisle.

He was nearly scared by how much he wanted the man. Wanted the man on top of him and inside him, filling his mouth and his hands and his body. And that want was only intensified by the thoughts and desires flashing (like star bursts, like lightening) across Carlisle’s mind. 

It was exhilarating and intoxicating and disorienting all at once.

Carlisle slid his mouth along Edward’s jaw and kissed him again, slowly this time (tongue tracing lips and teeth and tongue), while he rocked against him, hooked his leg around the man’s thigh, clutched at his shoulders desperately. The man’s hands moved down his sides to grasp at his hips, and he knew he’d have bruises (the press of cold fingers, the scrape of sharp teeth). But that realization only turned him on, made him harder because he wanted to look in a mirror and see marks on his skin (a map of every kiss, every touch).

After several delirious delicious moments, Carlisle pulled back slightly, pressing his forehead against his, to give Edward a chance to catch his breath. Then he kissed him again, a quick kiss, hard and demanding. 

A shard of desire, hot against the man’s cold, cut through his body. The warmth that unfurled in his chest, tightened his throat threatened to choke him.

Edward caught his hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Please.”

The man shuddered.

He pressed his mouth to Carlisle’s throat, to the curve of cool skin just above the man’s collarbone. “Please,” he whispered again.

“I…” the man’s words, thoughts faltered (wavered between fear and indecision and want, want, want…)

Edward’s hand slipped between them, fingers trailing over the swell of Carlisle’s cock.

This is madness.

“Yes,” he bit at Carlisle’s jaw. “Please.”

I want to fuck you.

“Yes,” he said again into the man’s mouth, and he gasped as Carlisle’s cock rubbed against his hip. “Yes…please.”

And the man actually growled (a low rumble in his chest that sent shivers across Edward’s skin), and then he rolled them over, pulling Edward on top of him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, twisting to reach for something in the bedside drawer. And just the sight of the small vial of lubricant against his palm was enough to make Edward moan, bite his lip (don’t come, don’t come).

His cock was flushed and damp and heavy against his stomach, and Carlisle shifted so that his own erection slid alongside Edward’s. Then the man reached out to wrap his hand around both of them. The coolness of his palm against too warm skin made Edward’s breath catch as he thrust through the loop of the man’s fingers.

“Oh…oh, God.”

Carlisle’s hand slid down his back to smooth over the curve of his buttock before fingers (warmed slightly from Edward’s skin) dipped between the crease, stroked along his entrance.

Edward shivered, lips parted slightly.

“Please tell me you’ve done this before,” Carlisle whispered desperately.

The non-question made Edward blush (a soft pink that splashed from his cheeks down his throat to spread over his chest). 

“It’s not my first time, or anything.” His cheeks warmed further as he said this, and Edward knew that the man was once again thinking of just how young he was. 

The man’s hand stilled its teasingly slow progression.

“There was someone once,” he added quickly. “A boy, in undergrad.”

Carlisle’s eyes darkened (jealousy saturated his thoughts like mist, an insistent blur before he swept it away, tucked it into a corner of his mind).

“Who was he?”

But before Edward could respond, could open his mouth, the man shook his head, “No.” He placed a finger on his lips. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.”

Edward sucked the tip of his finger into his mouth, and Carlisle smiled. Then he slid cold hands up the backs of his thighs, urging Edward up onto his knees.

He complied, parting his legs wider, and looked down at Carlisle. Edward knew he thought he was beautiful. Hands skimmed over his waist, thumbs circled china white hipbones, as he rocked beneath Edward, fingers pressing into soft, warm skin.

“Everyone will know,” Carlisle breathed against Edward’s throat, thoughts flashing briefly to the faces of his family. “They can hear us even now.” 

“I know.”

“I could hurt you.”

“I know that too.” Edward slid his thumb along Carlisle’s cheekbone. “But you won’t.”

The man looked unsure, but Edward stretched languidly, arching his back to press his hips into Carlisle’s. 

The man was mesmerized by his skin (soft, pale, beautifully delicate), and Edward knew he could hear (could taste) the wild thrum of his heart beating too fast.

He slid his hands down Carlisle’s bare arms, as he continued to undulate slowly above him. “Please.”

The man nodded and opened the vial, dripping the shiny slick liquid over his fingers. Edward held his breath.

He slipped one finger up against Edward tentatively, almost afraid to touch him.

“Carlisle,” he said sharply (breathless at the teasing touch), and the man pressed his finger in smoothly. Edward gasped, bucked his hips against his hand.

“Are you—” Carlisle looked up quickly, concern, fear, and indecision skipping across his mind. He was perfectly still.

“I’m fine,” Edward laughed, tightening around his finger. “I’m…oh, oh God...I’m more than fine.”

The man moved his finger slowly at first, twisting and curving, and Edward rocked up and down against him. 

It was too much and not enough all at once. “More,” he groaned, leaning down to run his tongue along Carlisle’s lip.

The man’s other hand slipped around the narrow curve of his thigh (skin, velvet soft, warm to the touch, almost more that he can bear), and he slid another slick finger inside.

Edward spread his legs wide, as he was stretched and stretched.

Carlisle moaned, breath a cool huff on his neck, and Edward could literally feel the want throbbing between them (skin sparking like livewire).

“Are you sure?” I want you I need you I want want…

“Yes.” Edward nodded, mouth open, lips red.

Then Carlisle was slicking his cock, positioning it between his legs (thoughts vibrating with fear and want and rigid self-control), and Edward groaned as he pushed into him exquisitely, excruciatingly slowly.

His entire body shook, thighs trembling, as he balanced above him. “More…” And he spread his legs wider still, sinking down and down.

Carlisle had to grit his teeth and hold his breath because instantly it was too much. Too warm, too tight, too young…

And he moved slowly inside him, cock slick and heavy, and Edward gasped, exhaling sharply with each upward thrust. It was devastating, beautiful, and slow. He wrapped one arm around the man’s neck, leaning down for another kiss.

Carlisle closed his eyes.

“Look at me.”

His eyes fluttered open again. Edward tried not to notice how gold they were. 

(“Oh…oh God…”)

Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop… The man groaned. He skated a palm down Edward’s chest (slick with sweat and warmth) then clutched at his hips, holding them as Edward rose and fell.

Carlisle’s thoughts shimmered all around him. Iridescent plumes of desire, need, fascination, disbelief. He thought Edward was beautiful above him, hair tumbling into his face, clinging to flushed damp skin. His eyes were bright and wide and green (so green).

He had to hold his breath against the rapturous expression on the man’s face, and, at that moment, there was nothing else in the world except himself and Carlisle and that white hot shattering bliss.

And suddenly, Edward was there. He gasped at the spiraling rush of pleasure, coiling down his spine, curving around his hips. “Carlisle…”

The man reached out to curl his fingers around Edward’s cock, but he batted his hand away. “No…no, just you.” Because he was too close already, and he knew he’d come the moment Carlisle touched him.

He shifted and arched his back, knees pressing into the mattress, into Carlisle’s sides. The man’s hips jerked, and Edward pushed down into each thrust as the headboard thumped loudly against the wall. But none of it mattered because he (because Carlisle) was inside him. And nothing had ever felt that good (could ever feel that good again).

“More…God, yes, more…”

Edward came, crying out, shaking, as warm wetness splashed on his belly, the man’s chest, and slid between them with each snap of Carlisle’s hips. 

“Oh…God,” the man breathed. You’re beautiful when you come.

“I want to see you,” Edward’s voice shook, as he leaned his head back, exposing the pale column of his throat to Carlisle’s mouth. 

It only took a moment. Cold fingers bruised Edward’s hips (perfect crescent shaped marks), as he shuddered beneath him, held him still, came inside him.

Edward’s heart thudded in his ears; his bones felt like water, as he collapsed beside Carlisle, disentangling their bodies, curling into his arms. 

The man stroked his back, cold fingers leaving goose bumps where they traced lines on flushed skin.

Lovely.

They lay there for a while. Edward tried to catch his breath, tried to calm the pounding of his heart, tried to disentwine his thoughts from Carlisle’s, but they were strikingly similar to his own.

It was clear, though, that a line had been drawn through both of their lives. A brilliantly pale mark that forever divided their lives between the before and after, before and after that singular, remarkable experience.

Epilogue.

Carlisle liked watching Edward sleep.

Their clothes lay in a rumpled pile on the floor, the wool of the man’s trousers a gray swatch against the blue of the rug.

He’d taken to going to bed with Edward every night, lying beside him after hours of talking, lovemaking, fucking (though, of course, he never needed the rest).

Edward curled into the man’s chest, half awake, half listening to Carlisle’s thoughts, slurred by his own sleepiness. 

The man smoothed his hair back from his forehead, fingers cool and soft. “Shush,” he murmured as Edward sifted against him again, and he could feel his breath against his cheek, as Carlisle brushed a thumb over his mouth, dragged his knuckles over Edward’s jaw, his throat.

Perfect. 

Carlisle had wrapped him in a blanket, a layer of warmth against the chill of his skin, and Edward shifted closer still, settling his head on the man’s shoulder. 

Carlisle watched.

And there, hovering on the edges of Edward’s awareness, the man’s thoughts (multifaceted and many colored) washed over him.

He brushed cool lips over Edward’s cheek.

Then (softly against his skin) one word slipped. “Mine.”

Edward was not even sure he said it aloud.

Mine.

But it doesn’t matter. The intensity, the possessiveness of that one simple word startled him. And he turned (more awake then) and opened his eyes. “You’re watching me.”

“Yes.” I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You’re mine, mine…

Edward smiled (a lazy curve of lips). “I know. I like it.”

Carlisle kissed him, mouth moving languidly, sliding slowly over his. 

“Always yours,” Edward sighed, hooking his leg over the man’s hip.

But the man frowned at the soft affirmation, images sliding (rain against a windowpane) across his mind. 

Edward. Changed. Beautiful. Immortal. 

Gasping beneath him, clutching Carlisle’s biceps, his shoulders, his hips, as the man thrust helplessly, brutally, beautifully into him. 

Edward’s back against the wall, fingers in Carlisle’s hair. Carlisle’s hands on his thighs, his mouth on his cock.

‘Oh, oh God… Can I fuck you like this?’

Yes… God, yes.

Edward was suddenly achingly, exquisitely hard. “When did Alice see that?” he asked, breathless.

Carlisle turned away, lips pressing into a thin line. No, no… “It’s nothing,” he said, voice clipped and tight.

But something prickled at the back of Edward’s consciousness, a wash of blue and gray. It was cloudy and indistinct, but—

“When, Carlisle?”

The man said nothing, would not even look at him.

“This was after, wasn’t it? After Italy. After you chose not to change me.”

No… But thoughts seeped through the creases of his mind, pooled around the edges (red, gold, and bone white).

“No,” he whispered again, “I’d never.”

“When?” he repeated his question, sliding a finger along the man’s jaw, encouraging him to turn his head. But he sat perfectly still, barely breathing.

“Please.”

The man’s eyes flashed (a shadow of something he could not place). “This morning…” Yesterday. The day before. 

Edward’s breath caught in his chest; his heart pounded against his ribs. 

“The visions are clear,” Carlisle said, voice tight (words like glass on his tongue). And they haven’t stopped.

“I didn’t know.”

He shook his head and did not look at Edward. “She’s been shielding you. At my request,” he added quickly at Edward’s frown. “But that doesn’t stop what she sees.”

Something warm curled through Edward’s stomach (bright light, white heat). He stretched, skin sliding against blankets and cold skin. “And I was—”

Carlisle didn’t let him say it (thoughts flickering disgust and desire). “Yes. You were like me.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Irrevocably.”

Edward pressed his mouth to the curve of smooth skin just below his jaw.

“I want you, you know,” he whispered, tongue tracing the shell of his ear. “Permanently.”

The man tensed, but did not pull away. “I… I know.”

“And we were happy.” It wasn’t a question.

Still, the man’s thoughts ran (like water, like blood). They twined between Edward’s fingers, coiled round his spine, slid slowly across his skin.

“Yes. We were.”

Fin.

May, 2011-October, 2011


End file.
